The Apple Trap
by ficlit78
Summary: Grace forces Rigsby to admit his darker desires to her and uses unconventional methods of coercion. Read: Total smut while talking about smut, which in turn leads to more smut.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I knew you couldn't stay away. Dirty, naughty monkeys. This one looks at trust, darker urges and willingness to explore. I think these two could definitely have some dark streaks in them, with someone they trusted. Dedicated to Starfire, who sees dark urges everywhere. If I owned the Mentalist, these people would never make it to work.

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**The Apple Trap**

She asked him while she was riding him like a stallion. She asked him when she knew he'd be writhing in pleasure and couldn't summon the ability to evade her question. She asked, knowing that when she got him this close to the brink, he could never, ever lie.

Not that he'd normally lie to her, but she couldn't risk him being a gentleman about it.

So, gasping for air and screaming with ecstasy, he answered her.

She squeezed him with her yoga-toned muscles and whispered, "Have you thought about it?"

He felt his cock wrung impossibly hard and he spasmed helplessly underneath her. "Yes."

She reached behind their joined bodies and grasped his balls firmly in her fist. "Before we got together?"

"Yes," he rasped, his entire body begging for relief as she manhandled him.

"After?" She rotated one leg forward to settle completely across his chest and over his shoulder, the other leg stretched backward in the opposite direction until she was in the splits position. Her inner walls crushed together tightly. His thick presence suffered the mind-blowing consequences of being in the way.

"Yes!" He was too far gone to blush. His entire being was currently straining upwards, a willing hostage in a restraint that squeezed him with no mercy.

She immediately repaid his honesty with the rare and erotic ability few women were capable of. She gripped her pussy like a fist and dragged out his orgasm against his will. Her yoga made it possible. Her raging desire made it absolutely delicious. Rigsby's eyes shot open. A level of ecstasy he didn't know existed slammed into him. He screamed like a man who'd been shot in both knees as pleasure rocketed through his shaft and adrenaline nearly flatlined his heart. His rigid muscles nearly tore through his skin as he pounded upwards. His biochemistry rewarded his achievement of a perfect sexual experience and dumped a gallon of dopamine into his bloodstream. His scream was cut off as his desperate lungs pulled air. As he gasped and panted, Grace watched with stunned amazement.

It was a gorgeous sight.

The sweating, semi-conscious, trembling man beneath her panted her name like there was no other utterance on earth worth speaking. When he finally lifted his hazed and unfocused eyes to hers, he could only blink.

"Am I in trouble?" he croaked.

She knew what he meant. He had admitted to something under duress and wanted to know if his admission upset her. Oh, if only he knew what that little piece of information made her feel. She pulled out of her split pose and settled her knees on either side of his hips.

"Did you think it would upset me?" She squeezed his softening penis gently inside of her, chiding him with her tone and her body.

He cringed with pleasured overstimulation and smiled sheepishly. "I wasn't sure. I would never have mentioned it, baby. I respect you. It's just a guy thing, I don't expect it or need it."

"But you want it," she didn't phrase it as a question.

He backhanded his eyes, wiping sweat from his brow and shielding his embarrassment.

"No hiding, Wayne," she teased softly, pulling his hand away and smiling softly down at him. "You want it."

Bracing himself, he answered. "Sometimes. Yes."

He scrunched his face and shut his eyes in melodramatic expectation of getting an earful. After all, it was a tall order. A tall, scandalizing, porn-worthy order. He never in a million years would have broached the subject. It had never even been on his wish list. He'd never shoot the moon like that. Nope, it was just an animalistic impulse that struck him on occasion. There was no thought behind it, no elaborate fantasy or plan of execution. No more brains to it than a Polariod camera stuck on autofire. Blinding, cheap, grainy images flashing through his head faster than he could stop them, their erotic contents littering the floor of his skull. But it was okay. That was the one place Grace would never find them. He might not be able to dump these mental pictures like he had his meager porn collection once he and Grace started dating, but luckily there was no real need. She couldn't see them.

She'd never know.

Unless of course, she tortured him about their existence by caging his hips between her stunning legs and clamping his rigid dick in a velvet snare. Unless she whipped his loins into a frenzy and scrambled his brains like eggs. Yeah, if she found those rather obvious weaknesses, she could get anything she wanted, right down to what triggered the images and sketches of what they looked like.

Oh, to be sussed out so easily. Embarrassing, really.

He had read somewhere that the easiest way to catch a monkey was to put an apple in a longneck jar. The monkey reaches in and grabs it, but his fisted hand can't pass through the neck. Wanting the apple more than his freedom, that poor, sad creature will grip that prize to the bitter end, even when the captor walks right over and scoops him up.

Apple or freedom.

Erotically tormented by Grace or…not. The poor, sad man's choice is clear.

Just call him a monkey's uncle.

Perhaps he should have taken those Interrogation Resistance training courses at the academy back when he was a cadet. Courses that explained how to fight a torturer who had you by the balls. Literally or otherwise. At the time, he'd stupidly assumed that there was no physical extreme, no method of coercion, no bodily impairment that could break him.

Like an idiot, he'd never asked himself what he'd do if his torturer threatened to _stop_ touching him if he didn't pony up his intel. Just like he'd never considered a scenario where his captor had him by the balls, and he was begging for _more_. He'd been positive that he could fight the effects of sodium pentathol as well as the next guy, but he had never even heard of Grace Van Pelt or the havoc that particular drug would wreak on his resolve.

He'd been an idiot. Thank God he'd never been caught or worked over by anyone. If an Iowa farm girl could destroy him, a half-assed criminal would only have to show him pictures of her and he'd crash quicker than a box kite on a windless day.

He suddenly felt a fingertip on his nose. He opened his eyes.

"Okay."

His eyes followed the line of that dainty finger, to its hand, up to the lovely oval face hovering above his chest. "Okay what?"

She smiled knowingly. "Okay. Let's do it."

"What?" He swallowed. It suddenly felt like a Buick was caught in his throat.

Her smile deepened and went decidedly wicked. "Tomorrow night. I want us to try it."

"Baby, I was serious. I don't expect you to—,"

"I know," she interrupted. "This is something I want. With you." She dipped her chin and looked at him with a little girl's hope. "Please?"

Rigsby groaned deep in his throat and wrapped his arms around his captor. Her finger slid down his nose to his cheek where it danced lightly over his skin.

"Please," she repeated softly.

His mental Polariod was shooting off again, the image quality much sharper and clearer than usual. He dreaded and embraced the idea of those pictures becoming memories.

Despite his recent orgasm, he shuddered with desire.

"Tomorrow night," he agreed huskily. "I promise I'll be careful."


	2. Chapter 2

She'd read about it. That's why she'd asked.

All of her girly magazines and the occasional relationship book that she flipped through at the bookshop said that all men, on some level, wanted sex in that way. These books and articles were quick to point out the men weren't deviants for thinking about it, and the overwhelming majority wouldn't even mention it to their partner for fear of upsetting her. Men, the books argued, valued their women's comfort over their fantasy. As a result, it was a fantasy that they kept squirreled away in their minds, the closest they'd ever allow themselves was porn that depicted the act.

Sitting at her desk the next day, Grace considered how many times she'd wondered just how often he thought of it, if at all.

Well, last night had given her the answer. Score one for the hack relationship doctors that put their first names after their title. Dr. Sandra, Dr. Patricia, Dr. Dave, and all those other faux academics had actually done some legitimate research.

Her man wanted it, but had never planned to tell her.

She licked her lips in anticipation.

There was a reason she had wanted to know.

Growing up, her beauty had been a blessing and a curse. In high school, other kids had treated her with a certain distinction. Adults responded pleasantly to her. Things were often made easier for her, simply because her genetic molecules had fallen randomly in a pleasing style. Other kids gave her presents, chose her first in team sports, offered to do homework (which she never needed), took her for rides in their cars. However, it didn't always swing that way. If people weren't ingratiating towards her, they were often jealously demanding. Much more was expected of her. She was expected to dress, to act, to befriend, to persecute, to lead, all in a certain way simply because she was beautiful. Other pretty girls had either wanted to follow or dominate her. Plainer girls either adored or hated her. Boys had all unilaterally wanted to screw her. Grownups expected her to act as an example to other kids, knowing they looked up to her.

Whether friendly or angry, they all wanted something. For no damn good reason, except she was pretty.

Over time, her anger began to grow.

Being a teenager in a small town in a nowhere state, perspective is hard won. Gauging herself against others in such a small space, Grace had often felt like she was in a house of mirrors, desperate to see herself for what she was, but only seeing ridiculous exaggerations of everyone else's view thrown back at her. She spent so long in that funhouse looking for an honest mirror before she realized that the only way to truly understand herself was to leave the carnival.

College helped.

Iowa State gave her an environment of independent thought. It introduced her to people who, for the first time in her life, had no idea who she was or what she was good for. She wasn't the coach's daughter. She was just one daughter among thousands. And her looks were now sized up against hundreds of pretty girls instead of just seven or so. She was no longer unique. Rather than sobbing in a bathroom stall about it as so many former homecoming queens did, she rejoiced in her newfound anonymity. People talked to her because they wanted to, not because the small town social imperative said they had to. In these total strangers, she found honest mirrors.

She discovered she was still beautiful, but she also discovered that she was worth a damn in every other department as well. She could debate. She could laugh. She could listen to other people's problems. She could think on her feet. She could counsel. She could desire.

This honesty, so scarce throughout much of her life, became the quality she prized most in people. She'd been starved of it for so many years that she feasted ravenously when she found pockets of it in the larger population. She had a decent understanding of herself now after so many years, but people still appraised her. People still based her worth on her looks. People still revered and despised her before she even opened her mouth.

So when Wayne Rigsby showed her an honest mirror, she'd been pleased.

When she realized that under the mirror was a good man who was also often judged prematurely based on his imposing presence, she'd starting falling.

When he'd fallen in love with her because of _who_ she was, she had tipped completely. Ass over teakettle, it was that fast and inelegant. She gorged herself on his sincerity. She greedily fed on every word and expression of candor.

He couldn't lie.

This was the oasis she'd been looking for since leaving Iowa.

…It was also the incredibly satisfying sex life that she'd been yearning for her entire adult life.

It shook her to the bone.

But over the last few months, as this safe and honest man had taken her to heights of physical pleasure she'd only read about in romance novels, her curiosity began to get the better of her.

Would her unstintingly truthful lover want that certain act with her? Would he, as the book suggested, keep that wish to himself? His rough and splintered frankness meant everything to her. Varnish only served to gloss over the truth. She had no love for varnish. She wanted splinters.

So she'd asked him. And the rough and splintered answer came back. Yes.

A guy thing, he'd called it. He never would have broached the subject.

Unacceptable.

Tonight, Grace planned to show him just how rewarding his rough honesty could be.

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He honestly couldn't help it.

Before they'd gotten together, the thought was just so damn wrong that it felt illegal just thinking it about his fellow young colleague. When the urge struck, he always wanted Cho or somebody to just cuff him and lock him up, maybe throw some ice water on him for good measure. Toss him a Bible. Or a titty mag. Find Jesus or find relief, just stop with the dirty thoughts already.

Sicko.

But now he and Grace were involved.

And one thing more than any other triggered this mental scenario against his will.

Grace? Waxed.

Oh, dear God, it had killed him their first night together. As she had modestly slipped her panties down her legs, he'd been dangerously close to coming before he'd even touched her. Her sweet, achingly beautiful pussy was smooth and silky to the touch. He'd gone more than a little crazy when he finally made his hands reach for her. By the end of that night, she'd come against his hands and lips and cock so many times that he'd lost count. He hadn't said a word about it, but her anatomy—so fucking visible and gorgeous—ensured that his cock never stayed down for long.

Finally, after he scooped up his liquefied brain from the floorboards and rested in sated bliss in her arms, she'd quietly explained. Boyfriends—_assholes_, he mentally amended—in her past had teased her about her red curls. They weren't being cruel, she'd told him quickly, it just made her uncomfortable undressing for someone the first time and watching them chuckle at her unusual pubic hair color. She felt exposed at their lighthearted mockery instead of sexy and desired. It made intimacy that much harder for her, and it was hard enough already. So in her early twenties, she'd made a decision: Remove it. All of it.

Wayne instantly wanted to ask her for the names and addresses of these jagoffs. Because of their unthinking dumbassery, he hadn't got to experience her fully. They had ruined his exploration of her red, glorious body and made her feel like she needed to hide her true self from him. Not that he didn't love experiencing her skin instead of her beautiful little locks, but seriously? Those bastards managed to get a woman like Grace into bed and they had to audacity to laugh at her? Were they so knee-deep in perfect women that they could afford to joke about their divine bodies in front of them? Yeah, he felt a bit homicidal at the thought.

He'd kissed her forehead and told her that she could throw her waxing kit away, if she wanted. Her body was a living work of art. He wanted to admire it in every single form. She'd smiled softly and said she'd think about it.

Meanwhile?

They had fucked each other senseless every single night.

And the wax job in question? Didn't just highlight her perfect little pussy. As he drove into her wantonly from behind, or held her legs wide open underneath his thrusting hips, her perfect, pert little ass was on constant display. A tiny, pink little buttonhole next to a spectacular flower.

And the male prerogative of wanting to fuck a woman in the ass hit him like a Mack truck.

But no. He crushed it every time. As he thrust blindly into her perfect body, he knew he had more than he could ever want just experiencing her this way. Only this way. He'd watched her face that first night when he'd yanked his boxers away and knew that he was more than she was used to. Her eyes had gone round. Her breath had caught. And when he'd slowly entered her impossibly tight depths, she'd gasped, her hands gripping him as her body stretched wider than ever before.

He'd been careful. She'd been eager.

As a result, their hormones now screamed only for one another and their bodies fit each other like elaborate keys. It blew his mind how perfect they were together.

So that little extra desire was totally nonessential. More than that, the act itself would most likely hurt her. She was so tight. He was well endowed. This convinced him that her tempting little hole—pink and sweet as a rabbit's nose—was off limits. And that suited him just fine.

Until last night. She'd agreed to try it. She said she wanted it.

Suddenly his nonessential, extra little desire—his Polaroid pictures—had been blown up into posters. They hung from every corner of his mind. He couldn't escape them. As he looked up from his own desk and stared at her rapt concentration in her work, he envisaged what such an act would be like with her.

Because he had never done it before.

Just like in his current relationship, he'd never mentioned it to past girlfriends. Nor had they. It had stayed in his fantasies and the sex had stayed straight-forward. And just like now, that had been fine with him.

But now there were exactly seven hours before they both lost that cherry. Grace, his own personal earthquake, wanted it just like he did.

Standing up quietly, he took one of his breaks and slipped into an empty interrogation room with his private cell phone. Once seated in silence and total privacy, he called up the internet and, clearing his throat modestly, searched for anal sex techniques for men.

Unbelievably hot fantasy or no, if his inexperience ended up hurting her, he'd kill himself. There had to be methods, other than just going slow, that would not only avoid pain, but create pleasure. And he would find them. He would teach himself how to make this so damn _good _for her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Christ alive.

He hadn't felt this nervous since those fifteen minutes between when Grace had yanked him into that dark office to make out and meeting her in the parking lot.

In between, he'd been forced to drink wine he didn't care about, eat pizza he didn't want, make infuriating, calm chitchat with his team, and _not _look at the woman he could still taste on his lips.

Those fifteen minutes had felt like hours. They'd felt like prison bars.

That wonderful, reckless girl had sent him from sad resignation, to shock, to mindless joy, to uncontrollable lust in that short space of time. Ill-advised, really, to drag a lovesick man through such an emotional ringer. She was lucky she hadn't been pinned to the nearest car hood and ravished hard and proper once he'd stuttered his excuses to the team and came looking for her, all hot and bothered and ready for more.

He'd found her sitting in the driver's seat. He'd nearly ripped off the passenger door. It was in his way. She might have pulled a fast one and started their first make out session, but he damn well started up the next one. As he leaned across the consol, he blew right past her nervous smile and dove in, all anxieties and shyness obliterated as he hungrily pulled her to him and claimed her lips with his, growling deep in his chest with approval. Her lips, and soon her entire body, were now occupied territory.

Fuck being nervous. Fuck the whys and her reasons and his residual questions. They could wait. His pent-up need had accumulated from a single drop to a great lake during their professional relationship and from the moment she gave her consent to his advances, the dam broke like a twig.

He was going to take her. And take her he did. But the fifteen minutes between those two kisses had nearly ended him.

Such was his angst now.

It was late. He was still in the office. Jane slept fitfully on his couch and Lisbon was working late as usual in her office. Cho had gone home shortly after Grace. That had been almost an hour ago. He kept telling himself that he didn't want to follow her too closely and risk Lisbon's ire. But that wasn't the truth and he damn well knew it. He was scared. Shitless, to be precise.

This…this thing they were going to do. It was one of the most sacred acts between lovers. But? It was just as easily one of the most degrading and violent acts a person could force on another, capable of inflicting great pain and humiliation. His fantasy was nothing but the first. Grace's comfort in the soon-to-be reality? He broke out into a sweat. _She had asked for it, but would it only hurt her? Embarrass her? Make her feel used and violated? Jesus, why did he ever admit to wanting it? Why hadn't he kept his mouth shut and let her go right on torturing him with her erotic moves?_

But it was too late. She was waiting for him even now.

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She sipped her second glass of wine and waited patiently for him on her sofa. Her girly books had explained for this particular activity, total relaxation was crucial. Alcohol seemed like par for the course. She took another sip, feeling her muscles unwind and her blood surge into tipsiness.

She felt calm. Surprisingly so. After spending so many years thinking it was the _act _that she objected to, she had realized the other night, riding Rigsby into a screaming confession, that it was previous sexual partners that she had balked against.

She hadn't trusted them completely. There was the stripped-down truth. Those boys who'd chuckled at her red expanse below and eyeballed her with a little too much physical interest and not enough genuine affection, they had left her in no mood to trust them with something so delicate. Too much control would have been lost if she'd allowed them to take her that way. Too much respect thrown down the toilet if they'd decided it was a score instead of a gift.

It was an act of complete surrender and domination.

There was only one man in the world she would surrender to. Back then, she hadn't even known his name.

But she knew it now. When a second key hit her lock, she didn't even glance at the door. Smiling into her glass, she whisperingly acknowledged her conqueror.

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_Tip 1: Start slow. _

He grabbed an empty glass and joined her on the sofa, sinking down right next to her and pulling her halfway on top of him, his mouth searching for his hello kiss. She smiled at his insistence and pressed her lips softly against his.

He tasted femininity and wine. Jesus, tonight was going to kill him. He knew it. He could barely put his lips on her without feeling his restraint and gentleness erode into more forceful, dominating inclinations. The thought of her sitting here, waiting for him, thinking about him, and kissing him like she was currently kissing him the minute he walked in the door…it did things to him. Frightening things.

He took her glass from her and set it along with his empty flute on the coffee table, his interest in drinking forgotten as he pulled her over to straddle his lap. She chuckled in her throat as he locked her down with his hands and leaned up to catch her lips again.

_Tip 2: Talk to her. Let her know what she means to you._

"Do you know how insane you drive me, baby?" he whispered softly against her eager mouth.

She shook her head slightly, not wanting to break their kiss. He engulfed her cheeks in his hands, pulling her down harder onto his lips and raiding every recess of her dizzying mouth. She whimpered in willing submission. He pulled back and bit gently on the graceful line of her collarbone. She gasped at his wolfish attack and bared her throat to him, trusting him completely.

"The things you make me want to do to you," he followed the line of the bone with his tongue. "The sheer number of times I've wanted to tear you to pieces, to bite and suck and mark you until you looked like a leopard. My perfect, marked, wild kitty. And you'd let me, wouldn't you?"

Grace closed her eyes and moaned softly. Oh, to hear this man talk. In every other situation, his shyness tripped his tongue and made him awkward and misunderstood. He'd smile with uncertainty, apologize, and immediately dig another hole with his insecure explanations. In Grace's arms, his shyness evaporated and his possessiveness and testosterone did all the talking. His voice dripped with jealous ownership. His hands had no reservations whatsoever in gripping her firmly and claiming her fully. His eyes didn't slant to one side in embarrassment. They ate her up. She felt consumed by him. Dear God, did it feel good to be devoured.

"Yes," she mewled softly. "I'd let you."

"My girl," he growled approvingly. He tugged impatiently at the hem of her top. "Off, please."

She obeyed and yanked it over her head. His hands instantly slid up her back and his mouth fused against her bare shoulder and worked its way in.

"You scare me so bad, Grace," he murmured against her, his tongue outlining the shell of her light blue bra. "I have no idea what I'm capable of when I'm with you."

She shivered at the thought of him out of control. Doing something crazy. Dangerous. He'd already charged armed men and shot down suspects because of her. What terrible, exhilarating things did he picture when fearing for his sanity in her presence? The instinctive pleasure that came from controlling a dangerous mate made her dizzy. The she wolf in her asked as her lover continued to bite at her softly.

"Would you kill for me?" It felt so wrong to like the idea.

"I would. I have." He bit her breast through her bra and she keened and arched into his mouth and words. She ground her hips down firmly into his, feeling his stiff presence straining upwards towards her offering.

"Would you die for me?" Equally wrong. Equally thrilling.

He moved to her other breast and bit down with the same loving possession. Her fingers fanned into his dark hair and fastened into it, holding him to her in desperate encouragement. He rumbled softly at her obvious enjoyment and answered her. "Yes. A million times over."

The woman in Grace went crazy. Her entire being drove down into the man who owned her attention, her body, her will and wordlessly begged for him. A million years of evolutionary imperative forced her thighs open wide across him and pushed the sexiest, most alluring noises out of her throat. She bent backwards, giving him access to anything he wanted. He took without thinking, clasping her waist and running his thumbs over the svelte muscles of her tummy. Looking at it filled him with the insane urge toss her birth control pills into the trash and mark her in a far more permanent fashion. Namely, fuck her until that sweet, tight expanse of skin was round with the irrefutable proof of his child. Proof that he was the lucky bastard she'd chosen. He leaned down and kissed her bellybutton, nipping it gently before dipping his tongue in the well. She went rigid in his hands and cried out softly as his teeth scraped her sensitive nerves and his tongue tried to impregnate her all on its own.

_Tip 3: Ask her if she's sure. She needs to know she's in control._

"Talk to me," he whispered, fingering the zipper of her pants. "Tell me why you want this."

She leaned forward again and instantly set to work on his tie, pulling at the knot impatiently.

"I want _you_," she answered. "Every way there is."

She threw aside his tie and plucked at his shirt buttons, her hair falling around her face as she concentrated on her task. Rigsby found it harder and harder to form words and not actions.

"But why this?" he prodded gently.

Her fingers slowed and she swallowed. Her reasons were murky, hardly forming into words at all. But a tiny sentence skittered into focus, a minnow darting to the surface before disappearing again. Her gaze traveled from his shirt to his eyes. "I…I want you to ruin me."

His pupils flared to the size of dinner plates. "What?"

She went back to the buttons, talking to them instead of him.

"You've already ruined me in every other way. No one else will ever compare, I know it. But there's still one way I haven't be touched by you…been taken by you. There's still one way that someone else could have me that you haven't. I don't want there to be anything you haven't touched. Haven't ruined for every other man. I want to feel you everywhere and know that I'll never have better."

His blood, already boiling and circling his groin, turned into jet fuel.

"Fuck, baby," he growled harshly, taking his partially undone shirt and ripping it open the rest of the way. He shrugged out of it and immediately lifted up enough to yank his t-shirt up and off, furious that her words hadn't found them already naked so he could react instantly to their fuckable content. He rolled her underneath him on the couch and shoved his weight forcibly into her.

"There won't be other men after me," he promised darkly, his hips thrusting hard between her legs. "Not ever."

She arched up into his jealousy and hummed at its delicious heat. "I know," she assured him breathlessly. "So ruin me, baby. Show me. Take the last piece of me and make it yours."

"I will," he swore roughly, "but you have to talk to me every step of the way. Tell me exactly what you want. Exactly how you want it. This is you," he pulled down the cups of her bra, chose a breast and licked it avidly. "This is all about you."

Her arms slithered behind her head to grip the sofa's armrest. Her torso arched into his mouth, her bared breasts pleading for his touch. Her eyes closed, her lower lip pulled between her teeth, she corrected him. "Us. This is about us."

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He started so slowly and so soft that Grace was nearly climbing the walls with unfulfilled pleasure. They were naked in bed, twisting and writhing in every direction, but no penetration. Not yet. He was too busy trying to drive her crazy with petting and kissing and working her aching body in his hands.

His words? Molotov cocktails. Every single one.

He pressed a condom package in her hand above her head as he kissed her languidly. "Put this on me."

Her fingers bent into its crinkly surface. She looked up at him in surprise. Except for their first night together, before they'd disclosed their clean medical records and confirmed that she was on the pill, they'd stopped using condoms. After that first night, he would _never _have believed that sex with Grace could possibly be any better. Then they'd shyly confirmed the lack of VDs and plentitude of pills and, on the second night, he slipped into her bare. His eyes had rolled back and he learned to never say never again.

Hence her confusion at the foil wrapper in her hand.

He smiled at her burrowed brow.

_Tip 4: Use a condom and plenty of lubrication, synthetic or natural. _

"I'm going to make love to you first. I need it. I need to feel your beautiful pussy around me. Then? When you've soaked me and made me nice and slippery, I'm going to move lower."

Grace gave a breathy, gasping sob. She stripped the condom from the package and brought it to his tip. His smile never wavered. She pinched the tip and rolled it down his length. She'd already forgotten how condoms were difficult to push down his thick girth, even the larger sizes. His eyes closed with pleasure as she worked it down to the base, using both hands and forcing it against the strain.

"God, your hands," he murmured as she finished.

She smirked proudly. "You gonna reward me now? I've been a patient sport, baby."

Her smirk disappeared as he positioned himself and sank deep into her aching body with no warning. Her limbs fell open wide on each side of him and she moaned as her throbbing center was finally filled to the brim.

Rigsby thanked God that the condom dulled the sensation a bit. Watching her open up to him with such impatient joy made it almost impossible to focus. The smell of latex and the restricted feeling of her tight channel kept his tiny thread of control in check.

Soft. Slow.

He made love to her so gently that she felt like pliant, supple velvet underneath him. Knowing she needed to stay relaxed, she didn't arch or push into his agonizingly slow thrusts. She just let herself enjoy their union, not trying to race to the finish. She stayed beneath him, letting him control everything, sighing with contentment at making love with a man she adored.

"How do you feel?" he rasped between two deep plunges.

"Hmmmmm. Happy," she purred as her knees slid up and down his sides.

"Relaxed?" he asked, stroking her hair and staring deep into her eyes.

She smiled lazily. "Very," she answered. "Can we try it now?"

He nodded and her grin grew bigger. She moved to flip underneath him, thinking that he'd want her on all fours, but he stopped her. "Stay," he said.

Her eyes squinted. "But…don't I need to be…?"

He shook his head. "No. You can stay like this." He grabbed the second pillow next to her head and lifted up so that he could place it under her hips, tilting her up more towards him. He covered her again, his face soft but serious. "I need your eyes for this, baby. I need to see what I'm doing to you."

It was true. His research explained that almost any ordinary position worked, and while taking her from behind was his usual fantasy for this, he needed to be able to read her expression. Any wince, any gasp of pain, and this little experiment was over. He wasn't going to let their first time be so impersonal, or so easy for her to hide her discomfort. He wanted to see everything.

Still connected with her, he gazed into her eyes one more time. "Are you sure?" he had to ask. She smiled with certainty and nodded. "I want this."

He took a deep, steadying breath and withdrew from her. "Tell me everything you feel." It was not a request. She nodded as she felt him pull out, and then with sweet care, probe gently against her ass.

"Different," she murmured as he pressed softly. "Feels different."

He lowered his head and kissed her, his lips as gentle as his probes. "You're tight there," he whispered against her. "So fucking tight. Am I hurting you?"

She shook her head and tilted her hips more, wordlessly asking him to continue.

He gritted his teeth and pushed slightly harder. He felt her muscles give slightly and he groaned as the slickness on his condom gave him an inch's worth of access. "Oh, Jesus Christ, baby," he moaned hotly against her cheek. "I've _got_ to be hurting you. Tell me."

Grace only moaned in answer. Her body felt boneless. He met no tenseness as he moved. As he massaged and worked his way in, she felt a million nerve endings scream with pleasure. It was so sensitive there, she felt absolutely everything. "No," she whispered urgently. "Doesn't hurt…feels…tight…feels good…so good…keep going, please, baby?"

He cursed raggedly and pushed further, pumping in small, measured strokes, continuing to loosen her up.

_Tip 5: Revisit Tip 2. Keep talking to her. _

"You're the death of me, baby," he gritted out as his cock hit the halfway point inside her. "Oh, goddamn is this good."

She nodded frantically, wanting to push up into him, but knowing that she needed to stay still and relaxed. It was up to him. So she pleaded.

"More. Please, more," she framed his face in her hands, giving him her eyes, letting him see her lack of pain and clear enjoyment. "I knew it," she breathed out. "I knew you'd feel this way."

Mindless with ecstasy, he obeyed.

_Holy_… "Fuck!" he snarled as he pushed passed the point of no return. He was buried to the hilt, his cock squeezed like he'd shoved it through a straw. The heat surrounding him, the pulse of her body, the last few inches of her virgin territory gently pried open under his thrusts, drove his brain out through his ears.

"Too much…it's too much, Grace…I can't…you're so…Jesus!" He clenched his jaws together to keep from fucking her ass like a delirious animal. She gasped underneath him and he heard no pain in the sound.

"Waaayne," she moaned loudly, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Don't you dare stop," she ordered breathlessly.

"Won't," he panted. "Can't."

He continued to thrust carefully, never fully withdrawing and watching her face even though it was clear that she was going just as crazy as he was. He watched her hand slip down between them and work her clit desperately while she strained as hard as she dared into his hips.

"Tell me I've ruined you now," he ordered hotly.

"Yes," she answered instantly. "Nothing left…there's nothing left…I don't want anyone else…ever…just you…everything about you…you have me." She cried out as the pleasure in her clit tightened her floor muscles, making his presence all the more overwhelming.

"Your fingers," she begged. "Inside me."

He hissed loudly with animalistic approval, redistributing his weight so that one hand could slip under hers. As his index finger slipped into her throbbing, soaking core, she arched frantically and screamed. "_YESSSSS_!" Her free hand clasped the nape of his neck and brought him within range to kiss the life out of him. She keened loudly into their kiss as he growled appreciatively.

Every inch of her body felt alive with electrical current. She knew she should relax and take a more passive role, but fuck it. It felt too good. Every entry was filled with him. His tongue. His fingers. His gorgeous cock. There was nothing he hadn't had of her now. He owned everything as surely as if she was his own personal property.

And yet he was so careful. So loving. Her body sang under his assault. She couldn't stand it. In the end, that's what made her say it. She needed to know more of his secrets. She didn't think it through, her brain was too flooded with rapture to even realize she's said anything. But questioning him under duress had brought them to their current state of overpowering pleasure, so her mouth formed the words without her permission, hoping it led to more ephemeral moments of perfection like this one.

"Camera," she whimpered cryptically.

He shook his head to clear it and gazed down at her as he continued to hold off the orgasm threatening to overwhelm him. "What?"

Her unfocused eyes opened and pinned him with the blissed-out high of an addict. "Have you ever wanted to tape us making love?" Her sentence rose sharply as a second finger slipped into her core. Her eyes rolled back and she sobbed.

"Set up a video camera, you mean?" His voice was so rough that she knew he was as close as she was.

She nodded desperately, the idea gaining momentum and awakening a voyeur in her that she hadn't known existed. "I want to see us. I want to watch how beautiful you are when you fuck me."

"Jesus," he barked. His thrusts, for all his restraint, becoming more forceful. She made a high-pitched shriek of delight and bloomed like a rose underneath him, opening wider, sweeter, than anything he'd ever seen.

"Yes," he answered her, loosing his mind and not caring if she knew it or not. "I've imagined recording us. Putting it on my phone. Watching it when I couldn't be with you. Jerking off to the sight and the memory. Yes. I want it."

His words sealed it.

For the first time in her life, Grace exploded under the exhilarating force of simultaneous multiple orgasms. Her mental arousal, her hand on her clit and his fingers in her pussy, his cock plunging firmly into her ass, all detonated at the same time.

She didn't hear her own scream. Her body became an unbearable hotbed of ecstasy. Somewhere far away, she heard Rigsby roar as her core clamped onto his fingers and made him lose any control he might have had on his own release. He came hard between the tight walls of her ass, screaming like she'd fatally wounded him.

In truth, they'd killed each other.

They convulsed violently together, Grace's breathy sobs barely audible under Rigsby's louder, deeper groans. Their bodies trembled, their minds all but absent, their nerve endings mere puddles.

Finally, Rigsby pulled up from the cradle of her arms and hips and withdrew gently, feeling her tense at his departure. She whimpered softly. He looked down with concern.

"It hurts?" he asked worriedly.

She stuck out her lower lip in a pout. "I don't want you to go."

Sated beyond belief, his mouth could barely find the energy to smile. "I'm right here."

Her lips had the same trouble doing anything as complicated and exerting as smiling back. "You know what I mean. That," she lifted her three ton arms up and draped them heavily around his neck, "was devastating, baby."

He nodded before tipping to one side, his arms unable to hold his weight a second longer. His hand made the arduous journey down to his softening penis and removed the condom, tossing it in the small trash can by her bed. She turned and threw herself casually on top of him, her head, arms and legs all seeking their usual resting places under his chin, over his chest and across his thighs. "Was it what you hoped for?" she asked through a yawn.

He chuckled softly, his eyes getting heavier. "Ruining," he answered quietly. "Nothing compares to you, Grace. Nothing. We can't ever break up now. You know that. No woman could ever wreck me like you do."

Grace barely heard him. She wanted to, but her ears were shutting down. Her entire being was burned out. She could feel his total relaxed state and knew he was no better off. She wanted to stay awake, to bask in the post-coital glory of the most amazing physical experience she'd ever known, but too many unstable chemicals had been released into her blood. Too many sedatives had been unleashed to stem the maniacal joy. _You did good_, her body told her. _Sleep._

She obeyed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The next day at work, Grace felt the most peculiar sense of satisfaction as she went about her daily tasks. Her fingers typed. Her hands made tea. Her ears picked up all of the normal office buzzings that hummed in the air.

But she was filled with a secret.

Her brain could barely sit still in her skull. It kept zipping around in its snug cage, reliving over and over the most delicious memory she'd ever made. It felt so naughty. So special. And damn near otherworldly on the pleasure scale. She smiled softly to herself as she worked.

She'd been fucked in the ass. Hard. Sweet. With a huge, John Holmes-like cock and she'd loved every single second of it. And the man responsible was fully clothed and sitting fifteen feet away. He'd taken something from her that she'd sworn she'd never give up and damn if it hadn't been the most delicious sexual experience of her life. She _loved _the sensations running through her as they each kept their eyes averted and pretended like they hadn't rocked the proverbial casbah last night. She felt wanton. She felt wild and out of control. She felt reckless, like she could do anything with this man and society's ideas of what was filthy and wrong would never apply. After all, they loved each other, so how could anything they did be filthy or wrong?

Grace buried a shiver of excitement that flew up her spine. _No one but Wayne knows what a wild girl I am_, she thought smugly. _No one would believe it, looking at little old me. Not our Grace, they'd say. Not quiet, religious, headband and cardigan wearing, serious Grace. She doesn't break taboos. She wouldn't let herself go crazy like that in anyone's arms. Nice and normal suits her fine. Slot A, Tab B. Nothing fancy. No siree. That girl would spook like a mare if anyone even suggested it. _

Her lips worked in a self-satisfied smirk. She felt damn proud. She'd shocked herself crossing that line, and casting her now-wanton thoughts over her imagination, she couldn't wait to find others to jump across.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rigsby felt like a million bucks. No, a billion bucks. Wait, what came after a trillion? Cuz that wasn't enough, either. In the end, he Googled it. From the list of enormous numbers, he chose novemdecillion. He had no concept of such a number, but he loved the way it sounded and according to the eggheads at MIT, it had sixty zeroes in it, which sounded about right. Yeah, he felt like a novemdecillion bucks. He'd break Fort Knox and any other financial stronghold, such was his overwhelming sense of worth. He was made of pure gold, laced with diamonds and sprinkled with platinum. Smirking as he sat quietly in the bullpen and pretending to stare intently at his computer screen, he didn't need to look across the way to know his girl was smiling and so sexually satisfied that her glow radiated in his peripherals.

Because of him.

_That's right_, he mused. _I fucked Grace Van Pelt in her little heart-shaped ass and made her come screaming so loud it woke the neighbors across the street. She pulled me in and squeezed me like a vice and all I can think about it doing it again. And again. And again until we've done it novemdecillion times. _

He shook his head in wonder. Fuck, it had been amazing. More than he ever would have dreamed possible. And her reasons for wanting it had blown him away. _Ruin me_, she'd begged him. _Take it and make it yours_.

How the hell was a man supposed go about his life, drive a car, go to work, or even speak in complete sentences after hearing something like that? How was _he_ supposed to want anything except to be put out to stud in Grace's bedroom? He had half a mind to tell her to just leave him during the day with a bag of food and a water trough, then she could come home and they could fuck each other unconscious, only to wake up and start the whole routine all over again. That sounded just peachy. Screw his plans for a career, he wanted a retired racehorse's life: Eat, sex, sleep, sex, eat, sleep, fan-fucking-tastic sex.

He chuckled to himself. He didn't care who heard it either. Let Cho and Jane draw whatever conclusions they wanted from his smirk or Grace's soft little sighs. Yeah, they were fucking each other into permanent paradise. What of it?

And tonight?

He was going to pull out his digital recorder and immortalize his lover, the most mind-blowing fuck he'd ever had the honor of taking into his bed. Maybe he'd make wallpaper out of it. Who knew? Or screen savers for his home computer. Posters for above his bed. Why not? Yeah sure, Grace would cringe over such tackiness, so he might have to pull it back to a few small outlets, but still. The footage and stills were going _somewhere_. Somewhere he could watch. Remember.

Somewhere he could just…marvel.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There was hardly four minutes between their departures that evening. Neither cared if the boss took umbrage. They had to get home. Now.

They pulled into Rigsby's apartment lot at the same time and nearly knocked each other over as they met on the stairwell leading up to his door.

"Oh, my God," she whined softly, clutching him close and dragging him down so that he covered her across several stairs. "Have you been going as crazy as me today?"

He braced his hands and knees on the inclining steps, knees straddling her thighs, hands trapping her head, as he leaned down and kissed her hard, not giving a fuck if anyone needed to get passed them. The building could be on fire for all he cared, the evacuees could find another route to safety.

"Shit, baby," he grunted against her mouth, "I nearly took you right there on my desk."

She laughed into his kiss and broke it, pushing back from the steps and into his chest. "That would have been subtle."

"Screw subtle," he growled as he ground her down into the tiered cement. "If they didn't want floor shows, they shouldn't have made it an open-plan office."

She laughed harder and hugged him earnestly, her passion momentarily overcome by her genuine affection for this sweet, silly boy. She smiled up at him. "You're so cute," she said honestly. "What would I do without you?"

He smiled tenderly, his raging need also subsiding into more loving emotions. "Call the number of the next guy waiting for the chance to be with you. I don't know if you've noticed, but there's quite a line forming behind me."

She grinned and blushed, gazing down the length of his body caged around hers as they perched on the stairs. _Nobody knows but him, this side of me_. She stroked his arms and chest, feeling the rigid planes under his clothes. She closed her eyes and shuddered, her passion surging forward again. "Tell them to go home," she murmured. "The position's closed."

"Which position's that?"

She leaned up to nuzzle and nip around his collar. "The perfect man."

A rumble formed deep in his chest as she pulled his tie and dragged him down closer. "Bed," she whispered, pressing her open mouth to his and pulling him under.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rigsby's directorial inclinations were trumped the minute they got through the door. He had planned to pull out the camera and make a three-hour documentary starting with Grace giving him a slow striptease and ending with her screaming his name so loud that it broke the built-in microphone. Alas, he'd barely jammed his key in the lock before Grace attacked him, viciously pulling at his clothing and nipping none too gently at the skin that she savagely exposed.

He fell back into his recliner, Grace, latched greedily to his chest, followed him down. His cuffs and gun dug harshly into his hips and he grunted in surprise at the mild pain.

"Baby, you need to slow down." He cupped his hands around her face, trying to pull her attention away from ripping at the knots, buttons and zippers holding his clothes together and bring her back to their plan.

No dice. He managed to capture her eyes, but her hands stayed their course. She smiled wickedly at him. "I haven't stopped thinking about this for a single second today." She chest made a deep, purring noise when her fingers found the smooth ridges of his abdomen under his t-shirt.

He smiled and dipped his chin shyly, delighted that she took such obvious pleasure in his body.

"What happened to recording us?" he asked as she pushed his shirts up further, her hands snaking underneath them and spanning across his warm skin.

Her lips, busy kissing a line across his throat, pulled up an inch. "We will. But I've gone for ten hours without touching you and the damn camera can wait."

Rigsby made a whining sound and Grace couldn't decide if it was from disapproval or pleasure as she sucked at his pulse point. Probably both. She lifted up from the addictive flavor of his skin and sat up primly in his lap.

"Fine," she huffed in little girl annoyance. "I'll be good."

He smiled and pulled her down again. She resettled onto his chest, now opened to his t-shirt, his tie and dress shirt laid open on either side. His eyes tracked his finger as it traced her cheeks and nose. She felt an ache bite deep in her chest at the wonder she saw in his eyes. She'd never felt so special as she did when he looked at her. "I didn't say be good," he murmured shyly. "I said slow down."

She smirked at that. "We have a terrible track record for going slow, Wayne. Maybe we should just get on with the show."

She moved to get off of him so that she could pull her head together and go find the camera, but he grabbed her by the waist and held her in place. "Maybe that's something else we need to explore," he mused.

"What? Making love slowly?" she asked. Hell, they'd made love at every tempo the human body would withstand.

He shook his head, his expression thoughtful. "Just sitting here like this, kissing, without trying to tear each other's clothes off."

She cocked her head, intrigued. "You mean, just sit here and kiss? Like we're back in high school or something?"

He grinned. "And my parents won't be back until late."

She grinned back. "And _my _parents think I'm at Beth's house studying?"

"But you snuck over here to be with me," he finished in a hushed, naughty tone.

She leaned down and pressed a lingering, wet kiss to his lips. "They'd be so mad if they found out," she whispered back, tilting her head towards his other cheek and kissing him softly again. "I'll be grounded for a month."

"No one understands us," he smiled against her mouth. "No one gets how much we love each other." Oh, the teenage angst of it all.

She shook her head, tsking their misfortune. "Just call me Miss Capulet."

"Aw, no. I can't be a Montague! I read somewhere that our relationship doesn't turn out so hot." Rigsby stuck his bottom lip out in a pout. Grace took the opportunity to nibble it before pulling it gently into her mouth.

"Shut up and kiss me, Romeo" she murmured, "and remember that if you stab yourself, I'll have to do the same."

She abandoned their teasing and proceeded to kiss him like she never wanted to stop. Her lips moved lazily over his, her fingers gently cupping and tracing his cheeks and throat. He rumbled softly and returned it, exploring her lips slowly. He opened his mouth and his tongue sought hers bashfully, not fully entering her mouth without its permission. She smiled inwardly and touched the tip of hers to his, stroking and swirling around it, before sliding in completely and tasting all of him.

God, he tasted so good. He was like dark chocolate—sweet, but complicated and laced with heavier undertones. She whimpered quietly, cupping the back of his head, holding her to him and wordlessly trying to explain how desperately she cared for him. He responded, rubbing her back in relaxing, encouraging strokes. His fingers caught and released the ends of her hair, sending tingles into her scalp with their soothing little pulls.

Relaxing completely, they plunged deep into each other, not giving a single thought to taking it further.

They ended up kissing for the better part of an hour. Grace was shocked when she resurfaced long enough to check the clock on the wall and see it had been 54 minutes since she'd landed in his lap. She turned back to him with a sheepish grin and found him thoroughly kissed up. His clothes were even more disheveled. His short hair was mussed like he'd just rolled out of bed. His lips were swollen and his skin was flushed. He was smiling back at her like a man who was having a helluva good time.

For the millionth time that day, she felt proud as hell. She couldn't remember the last time she'd sat in a guy's lap and made out with him like he was the cutest boy in school. She and Rigsby had _never_ had the restraint or patience to just kiss without it instantly going to far more naked places. It felt good. Clean. Innocent. Her grin grew bigger and bigger.

He reached up and traced the curve of her lips. "Whatcha thinkin'?"

She smiled dreamily. "That I've been kissing you for an hour and it felt like five minutes."

He returned her dreamy smile, clearly pleased at her answer. She dipped her eyes and added to it.

"I was thinking how sweet you are. How happy I am with you."

His dreamy expression deepened as his hands slid up her sides. "Baby?" he murmured.

Her brows arched questioningly.

"Talk like that will land you on your back."

She smirked. "Threats like that will land you on yours."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Grace, being the more techie of the two, checked the recorder's batteries and ran several tests to make sure everything was in order. As she sat on the bed and tinkered with it, Rigsby padded in wearing just his black cotton track pants and carrying two glasses of wine. He paused at the door when he saw his girl, sitting in her underwear and toying with a piece of electronics.

"Sexiest thing I've ever seen," he chuckled.

She looked up from her work. "What's that?"

He walked over and sat next to her on the bed, sipping from one glass. "You, you little geek. How come no one in IT or AV is anywhere as hot as you?"

She blushed and went back to the camera. She slapped a tape into the holder and shut it, holding the entire thing up to him. "Ta-da."

He batted it out of her hands. It bounced softly onto the bed as he placed the second glass between her fingers. She shook her head in reprimand as she took a sip. "You should treat your equipment better," she admonished over the rim.

He waved his hand. "What for? I have you to fix that kinda stuff now."

Grace snorted. "I ain't the AV department, babe."

She finished the modest amount of wine in her glass and he took it from her, setting it on the bedside table as he chuckled. "No, you're the Playboy Mansion's idea of the AV department."

She giggled and punched his bare arm. "Hey! At least my stuff gets fixed! I'm not sprawled over motherboards and circuit breakers, wearing six-inch heels and pouting like a sulky tramp. Those chicks can't even spell Panasonic."

His deep laughter boomed in the cozy space as he launched himself at her and wrestled her to the mattress. She laughed with him and struggled to free herself from her pinned position. Looking into his eyes, she would never again use the term 'blue' to describe feeling sad.

"Turn it on," she said breathlessly. "I want to see everything."

He paused for a second, his gaze dipping to her lips, before nodding and lifting away from her. He flipped the recorder on and set it up on the small table. From its angle, it could easily catch everything that happened on his bed.

She reached over and dragged him back down, making him pin her once again as she wrapped her arms around his back and drew him in for a long, lazy kiss. Her bare legs slid up the soft fabric of his pants. Feeling every bit the exhibitionist, she made a show of it, trapping him in the eager pull of her limbs and moaning softly as his kisses grew more demanding.

Her hands slipped into the elastic band and brushed against his stiff erection. "_Shit_," he hissed instantly, automatically straining into her grip. "Warn me first."

She hummed with power and stroked him slowly. "Warn you about what? That I want to touch you? That your cock is the prettiest toy I've ever had and I'd play with it all day if I could?"

He growled and thrust harder into her hands. "Watch it," he warned playfully.

She smirked, reaching down and yanking his pants away. "Gladly."

She reached over, plucking the camera off the table and leveling it against her eye, aiming it down and watching herself give him a handjob through the eyepiece.

"Jesus," he hissed in surprise, leaning back and giving her room.

"That's right," she crooned. The sight filling the monitor was so erotic that she barely heard the words tumble from her own mouth. "Look how big you are, baby. How hard. God, I love how you fill my hand. There's so much of you. You make me so wet, just watching this."

He growled louder, looking down his body, past her downturned head, to her hand working him over. He'd seen it before, but her fascination with it and the camera's presence stirred up some undefined, terrifying urges in him. He plucked the camera from her hands and turned it on her.

"Your underwear. Off. Now."

She whined softly at the interruption, but heard the granite in his voice and knew better than to argue. Wordlessly, watching the camera pressed against his eye, she removed her bra and slowly slid her panties down her legs. He immediately surged towards her, propping himself on his knees and one hand while she sat primly in front of him.

"Lean back," he ordered. "Spread your legs for me."

She moaned at his dark command and obeyed, lying back on the mattress and opening herself wide to his visual explorations. The camera traveled up the long line of her gorgeous leg until it reached with apex, her waxed, bare folds open and glistening with the evidence of her need for him.

"Fuck, Grace," he whispered reverently. She whimpered and arched invitingly, but he couldn't move. He couldn't tear himself away from the sight, slightly removed from the reality by the presence of the recorder. He felt oddly detached, like he was watching a porno that he had complete control over. Anything he wanted to happen was a matter of course.

And right now, he wanted the hero to touch the girl.

He rose up on his knees, more of her lower body filling the frame, while his free hand entered the image and traced her slit softly. Her body instantly jolted and she moaned.

"You like that, baby?" he asked without looking up.

She nodded, then remembered to be vocal. "Yes," she affirmed breathlessly. "More. Touch me more."

She opened herself wider and tilted up, wanting him to see everything he was doing to her. His thumb circled her clit and she groaned his name. When his index finger slid inside her, she keened loudly and rode his fingertip hungrily.

"You drive me so crazy," she whispered, flexing and clamping at him with her tight inner walls. "So, so crazy."

He panned the view, letting it wander up her tight stomach, up her gorgeous, straining breasts, to her beautiful face. That right there. That was the money shot. Her eyes were closed, her mouth rounded and open, little cries tumbling out. As he continued to touch and tease her below, her face changed a dozen times, each expression more stunning than the last.

"You want me inside you, baby?" he asked, the camera still on her face.

Her head nodded desperately. "Yes," she whispered.

"Why?" He couldn't resist.

She gasped in frustration, her eyes clenching tight as he inserted a second finger. "I need you," she whimpered pleadingly. "I need to feel you sliding inside me, stretching me out. Please, Wayne. Fuck me. _Please_!"

He inhaled sharply, his brain snapping into instinctive mode and powerless to do anything but obey. He only kept enough wit about him to pan the camera back down as he pulled her hips up to his and thrust deep into her sweet little pussy.

She sobbed with relief, her legs spreading wider, the tiny petals surrounding his shaft as he pulled out and plunged balls deep again.

"Yes!" she cried out, levering up to her elbows, watching his powerful body thrust deeply against hers. "Just like that," she sighed breathlessly.

The camera caught it all.

Rigsby watched spellbound for several seconds before Grace reached up and took the camera from him and turned on him. "My turn," she moaned.

Aimed down her body, she couldn't see much of their bodies' union, but she didn't care in the slightest as the monitor showed Wayne Rigsby buried deep between her thighs and pumping like a man possessed. All kinds of whimpering little noises came from her throat as she watched her own body pummeled in real-time film.

"Christ, I love fucking you," he rasped hotly. "So sweet…so tight…say you're mine, baby…say I'm the only one."

"Yes," she agreed, her eyes never leaving the screen as she listened to him, "You're the only one."

His eyes met hers through the lens and he grunted. "Turn over and gimme that thing."

She obeyed quickly, losing the camera and the view. As she repositioned on all fours, he wasted no time in nudging her legs apart and sliding home once more.

They groaned in relief together.

She couldn't see, but she knew he was aiming the camera at their joined bodies once again.

"Fuck!" he barked excitedly as he watched from above. Her perfectly shaped ass was splayed wide and welcoming as he drove into her, her skin rippling with the impact of his thrusts. His thick cock disappeared over and over again, slipping out of his view and into the realm of touch. Hot. Slippery. Tight and soft. The camera couldn't record this info, but he felt it and it drove him insane. He gripped her hip in one hand and pumped harder.

Grace was moaning constantly, her body stretched and massaged from within. Mindless with pleasure, her hand slipped down and worked her clit at a dizzying pace. She cried out harder when she felt his thumb press on her anus.

Wayne couldn't stop himself. That tiny little buttonhole, so small that he still couldn't believe he'd breached it, contracted under his thumb and made him shiver. How had he not torn her in half taking it? He groaned at the memory and realized it was only possible because she'd wanted it so badly. Still recording everything but not really noticing anymore, he hissed erotica over the hard slaps of their flesh.

"Did you like it when I took you in the ass, honey?"

She sobbed and keened, working her clit faster. "Yes!"

"You like that I've fucked you everywhere? That this?" He pressed harder into her ass. "Is mine?"

She bit her lips to keep from screaming. "Yes! God, yes! Everything's yours!"

"Like what?" he demanded, his pace becoming less measured with every thrust.

"My mouth," she answered breathily. "My ass, my pussy, my breasts, my legs, my arms, my mind, my heart. Yours." Her list fired off so quickly that he almost missed it in shock. Luckily, the camera ran without a glitch.

"Are you touching yourself, baby?" He knew she was, but the camera didn't.

He saw her nod above the camera line. "Bad girl," he chided, withdrawing from her and making her whine with disapproval.

He fell onto his back. "C'mere."

He still couldn't pull his eye away from the camera. Watching her move, listening to her cries, through the lens, it was a fascinating new way to experience her.

She slithered up his body and straddled his hips, looking at him through the camera.

"On your feet," he instructed. He watched her adjust to a crouch over him, her legs pulling wide across him, just like he'd hoped. "Now ride me, sweetie. And touch yourself now that I can watch."

If she hadn't been past the point of no return, she would have teased him first, lifting up and only taking his tip as he begged her to sink lower. But she was too far gone, her body screaming for release, so she leapt up on her feet, her muscles trained for this from yoga, and with legs open wide, she sank until she'd taken all of him.

"Oh, God," she breathed in relief. Immediately, she leaned back one hand bracing on the bed between his legs and one moving back to her clit. Her eyes closed. Everything went dark as she worked herself on top of him, wanting the intense, drugging release of an orgasm more than she wanted her next breath.

A lesser man would have died on the spot. The camera caught everything. Her body was eating him alive, slamming down onto his hips and forcing breathy gasps from her throat. He groaned as he watched her bouncing up and down on his raging cock. Her hand may as well been working on him for all of the things it was making him feel as it rubbed her clit furiously.

It was all just so…visible.

"Fuck me, baby. _Yes!_ Jesus, you look so good," he praised unthinkingly.

The gears turned silently in the camera, doing its job thoroughly, even though it lay utterly forgotten against his eye.

Grace opened her eyes, seeing it still glued to his face, and leaned forward to take it from him and set it back on the table. Its monitor filled with the image of both of them. She fell to her knees again and sank her nails into chest.

"Fuck me back," she ordered hotly. Sweaty and delirious, he grabbed her hips and obeyed. They threw themselves against each other, Grace thrusting downwards and Wayne pumping up. Panting and groaning, their mutual stare never broke as Grace crossed the finish line first, gasping and screaming as he drove manically until he joined her. Locked together, they screamed out their orgasms, still moving against each other, extracting every drop of pleasure until Grace fell on him in a heap.

Rigsby didn't even have the strength to wrap his arms around her. They both just lay spent, trembling and gasping for air.

In the end, neither one had the presence of mind to turn off the camera. Apparently they really could fuck each other unconscious, for darkness took them instantly.

The camera watched them sleep until it ran out of tape.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

That was Friday. They woke up early Saturday morning in the same position, with the addition of a blanket that Grace had semi-consciously dragged over them in the course of the night.

They disentangled themselves from each other, giggling and shoving as they fell out of bed and wandered into whatever sweatpants and tees that happened to lying around. They ate a lazy breakfast and read a morning paper together. At around 7:30, Grace gave her excuses to go home. He objected. She smilingly insisted. By 7:45, she was climbing into her car in the parking lot while he pouted from his doorframe on the second floor. She couldn't help but look up one more time. His muscular frame leaning sideways, a cup of coffee in his hand, a small wave on the other.

God, she loved that man.

As she smiled and waved back before starting up the engine and taking off, Wayne muttered several choice obscenities before heading back inside and shutting the door.

It took him only a few minutes to wander back to his room and notice that the camera was gone.

He didn't notice his personal cell phone was missing as all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grace hated leaving him. She loved their Saturdays together. But today, she needed her own place and some privacy. She had a plan and Rigsby wasn't allowed to see until she'd finished. Her purse sat on her passenger seat, her ill-gotten loot hidden inside.

She grinned to herself, feeling oh-so-naughty. She'd stolen. From the man she loved, no less. She'd never stolen anything in her life. It didn't gel with her belief in the Golden Rule. She was going to give it back and the injured party would never have minded, had he known, but the deception, however small, gave her a thrill.

She was a regular freakin' cat burglar.

She waltzed through her own door and immediately got to work. She pulled out the necessary leads and hooked the camera up to her rather enviable computer set-up. One of her few luxury expenditures. Before Wayne, and then for many nights trying not to _think_ about Wayne, she'd stay up to the wee hours of the morning, running tests, practicing searches, looking at various databases, all in the hopes that Lisbon would never find fault with her unique talents in the cyber world. It was the one ability that set her apart from the rest of the team and she sharpened that blade at every opportunity.

She hooked the camera up to the PC and started the download sequence. A layman's computer would have taken hours to do the job. Her super-mega-awesome computer whipped through it in 13 minutes. She didn't even notice. Her standards were high, and if the box didn't move quickly, she'd tear it to pieces and add the necessary hard or software until it did.

She pulled up the completed video file and hit play. She knew that she needed to do some editing to it before she downloaded it to his phone, but right now, she just wanted to run through it once. Just to see. A dark window popped open.

Showtime.

Her 20-inch screen filled instantly with the sight of her lover's big blue eyes staring at her questioningly as he leveled the camera at his bed. She instantly smiled. Pretty boy.

But she didn't get to admire his face for long. A sex kitten dragged him back to her, pulling his long body over hers and wrapping her arms around him. She kissed him hard, whimpering at his weight and heat as he returned her kiss with every ounce of desire. Grace gasped softly. She'd never, never been a big fan of photos of herself. Despite an entire childhood and early adulthood of everyone openly admiring her, she'd never truly gotten comfortable with the sight of her own face and body. It was like looking at someone else, if she was honest.

She felt that now.

The woman on screen wrapped her surprisingly long and shapely legs around Wayne's until he was thoroughly enveloped in her eager body. Her hands slid over his muscular back like they'd discovered the most perfect texture ever created. The woman murmured and sighed like she was the happiest creature on earth. Her chest arched into his, her bra teasing over his pecs. Her flexible thighs slid up past his hips to his ribcage, then back down again. He growled loudly, his hand reaching down to cup and stroke from her ankle to her ass. Grace almost choked.

Dear lord! Was this really how she looked? How she sounded? It didn't sound or look anything like how she imagined. She imagined someone a bit more...normal. A bit more passe. She loved Wayne, sure, and she'd hoped that it would show on the tape.

But the woman on the screen? She was so…just so unbelievably…_sexy_. Grace racked her brain, but there was no other word. The woman on the screen moved with a grace and sexual confidence that regular Grace would never have claimed to possess. The woman on the screen _wanted _that man, in no uncertain terms, and she was showing him exactly how she felt as her hands slid into his waistband and gripped him. The woman's lover hissed loudly and thrust hard between her long legs.

"Shit! Warn me first." He growled at her.

The woman made a deliciously fuckable purring sound and responded while she stroked him. "Warn you about what? That I want to touch you? That your cock is the prettiest toy I've ever had and I'd play with it all day if I could?"

_Sweet God_, Grace thought in astonishment. _Do I always sound like a professionally-trained concubine when I talk to Rigsby in bed_?

She'd never noticed. Usually, she never even heard herself when she was wrapped in his arms.

Wayne warned the woman to watch it.

She laughed silkily and the camera was scooped up and pointed down. "Gladly."

Grace's mouth dropped. The 20 inches of her screen were suddenly filled with her hand wrapped around his throbbing cock. Her adrenaline level spiked_. Oh, my God._ _This was wrong. So, so, so wrong. And private. And not meant to reach the light of…_

"Look how big you are, baby. How hard. God, I love how you fill my hand. There's so much of you. You make me so wet, just watching this."

Grace gasped loudly. Had she seriously _said_ that? Oh, dear God in Heaven, she didn't even _remember _saying anything as she gripped him then. She'd been so focused on watching him through the lens, hypnotized by what she saw. Of course, she'd _felt_ those words. As shocking as they were, they were absolutely accurate. But she'd said them? Out loud?

She was suddenly so glad that she'd watched this alone. A blush had started in her throat that was migrating straight to her hairline. She would never have wanted Wayne to think that she was embarrassed by images of them making love. She wasn't embarrassed at all.

She was…shocked.

The camera was jilted and aimed at the woman again. "Your underwear. Off. Now."

Grace barely recognized the man speaking. He sounded so dark and angry…and so turned on that if the woman didn't comply, she might have trouble on her hands. Luckily the woman had no qualms whatsoever as she cast her skimpy garments aside. The image of her surged forward.

"Lean back. Spread your legs for me."

Grace could barely get her mind around her sweet teddy bear saying anything so demanding and filthy to her before the woman on the screen opened wide to his wishes. The camera panned up the woman's stunning leg before settling on her bare, dripping pussy.

"Fuck, Grace," the woman's lover whispered.

Grace moaned out loud. Her voice sounded odd and lonely in her small office.

A large hand appeared and began stroking her with light, experienced movements. The woman moaned and jolted under his touch. Surprisingly, the camera panned up. It slithered over her writhing, shameless nudity until it landed on her face.

Grace stared in awe. Who _was_ this woman?

Her face, so close and detailed, was erotica personified. Her flaming hair spilled in all directions. Her pouty lips rounded and pulled in several pretty expressions. Her eyes were squeezed tight, she never looked at Grace as she keened and whimpered.

"You want me inside you, baby?" the dark, angry man demanded.

The woman nodded madly before answering yes. He cruelly asked why, obviously teasing the poor creature.

"I need you. I need to feel you sliding inside me, stretching me out. Please, Wayne. Fuck me. _Please_!"

The camera panned down and Grace felt her wetness drench her panties as two rough hands pulled the woman wide open and impaled her on his frighteningly thick cock. The woman screamed with pleasure as he began a punishing, forceful pace. Their mutual moans of bliss proved to any unsuspecting observer that their furious rutting wasn't nearly as rough as it appeared.

The camera changed angle and now it was watching him. The woman's legs were spread wide as the dark man drove himself between them with startling power.

"Christ, I love fucking you. So sweet…so tight…say you're mine, baby…say I'm the only one."

Grace's mouth was now completely agape as she listened to the breathless woman give him what he asked for.

How could she have never noticed before? How could she, even in the mindless joy of sex, never have registered these conversations? Everywhere else, she and Wayne were so silly. They were so lovey-dovey. Playful. Smilingly sarcastic. Occasionally serious.

Who were these strangers that took over their bodies when they made love?

Gone was silliness, the goofy smiles and sarcastic digs. Gone were the sweeter sentiments of affection. Gone were his concerns of being stronger and her concerns of intimacy.

These people fucked like animals. They swore like sailors. And they loved and hungered for each other like no one else existed.

Grace was transfixed.

The couple had changed position again. The fearless woman was now being taken from behind, the camera panning down to their union. Once again, Grace admired the stranger's pretty body as it was ravished by a lovesick brute.

His thumb pressed into the woman's tight ass.

"Did you like it when I took you in the ass, honey?"

The throbbing in her core was becoming unbearable as the woman screamed that she did.

"You like that I've fucked you everywhere? That this is mine?"

Still wearing sweatpants, Grace's fingers wandered from the keyboard and into her lap. They pressed gently against her clit through her clothes as the woman answered.

"Yes! God, yes! Everything's yours!"

"Like what?" he demanded. The sex was getting rougher. The man was losing control. Grace moaned again and pressed herself harder.

"My mouth, my ass, my pussy, my breasts, my legs, my arms, my mind, my heart. Yours."

Her hand slipped into her pants. She found herself dripping. Shocked at the words coming from her own mouth, she began to rub her clit furiously.

"Are you touching yourself, baby?" It was almost as if Wayne could see her. She found herself nodding even as the woman moaned.

"Bad girl."

He withdrew from the woman and both she and Grace groaned at the loss.

The angle changed again. "C'mere."

The woman slithered up his now-prone body and perched.

"On your feet."

She complied and crouched over his raging erection.

"Now ride me, sweetie. And touch yourself now that I can watch."

Grace cried out as her nerves overloaded with pleasure as the woman on screen spread herself wide over that sexy bastard and threw herself on him, her hand a blur on her clit as she fucked him savagely, screaming and crying out in ecstacy.

"Fuck me, baby. _Yes!_ Jesus, you look so good," he barked angrily.

The woman looked so close to falling over the brink—and Grace was right behind her—when she suddenly jerked the camera away and set it on the table. The perfect image of both of them filled the frame as she straddled him fully.

"Fuck me back," the woman demanded breathlessly.

Grace keened loudly at their scandalously foul mouths. As she watched them fuck one another raw, she came just as they did, all three screaming and gasping as their respective orgasms drowned out everything but pleasure.

Grace fell back in her chair as the couple collapsed on each other. She could barely hear their rasping gulps of air over her own. Her eyes watered. She hadn't blinked in over a minute. Her eyes fluttered several times as she watched the couple slip quickly into sleep. Their sweaty skin dried in the cool air. Their breaths became softer and slower. Their faces, their fierce masks, became calm and peaceful. She could almost recognize them again.

The woman murmured softly, her head burrowing further under the man's strong chin. A small smile hinted on his lips, his unconscious mind telling his arms to wrap around her back. They did so, the thick ropes of his muscles snaking around her slender body in a gesture of achingly sweet comfort and protectiveness. His fingers slipped automatically into her hair and curled inwards, pulling several locks into his loose fists. He sighed contentedly.

They breathed as one.

As Grace felt her overheated skin begin to cool and her heartbeat return to normal, she watched them sleep.

She watched them sleep for a long time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

In the end, she watched them nearly as long as the camera had before running out of tape.

When she finally pressed stop, she released a slow, trembling breath. She leaned forward onto the desk, cupping her cheeks in her palms and staring into the now darkened screen.

_Jesus Christ_. She thought it with equal measures of reverence and blasphemy. Her mind was oddly blank. It had been scooped out of everything except awe.

So, that's what it was like to watch two people in love.

It was different from anything she could have expected. It was nothing like what she imagined for herself. Nothing like what she remembered when she thought of him in her arms. Those two people on the screen, they were…she couldn't even think of a word for what they were.

Mercurial. Volatile. Violent. Fearless. Lustful. Dominating. Submissive. Worshipping. Greedy. Giving. Angry. Loving.

She knew of no word that embodied all these things.

More to the point, aside from one of two of them, she never would have used these words to describe her or Rigsby. They weren't violent, volatile people. Rigsby wasn't dominating. She wasn't greedy. Neither of them were fearless. Neither of them were angry.

And yet.

Proof had flickered before her very eyes. Those words may not describe how they lived, but they sure as hell described how they loved. That little home movie drove that rather shocking point straight through to the back of her skull.

She punched the rewind button and paused it when she came to the close-up of her own face.

_Who the hell was she_?

Grace stared at her own image, frozen in bliss. She didn't recognize her. At _all_. Nowhere, in any point in her life, could she remember looking as deliriously happy as she did in that still. It was almost as if a gorgeous bombshell had taken her place in her bed. Taken her place with her lover. And he was madly in love with her.

Irrationally, she felt a spark of jealousy.

She immediately crushed the thought. How ridiculous is it to be jealous of yourself?

She fast forwarded and paused on an image of Wayne. He was looming above her, mid-thrust in the still image. His chin was dipped towards their joined bodies, but his eyes were staring at the camera. Staring at Grace. Both Graces. His gaze burned her. It had then and it certainly did now. His expression was one of tight concentration, his stare was heavy with unapologetic lust.

Again, what had felt right and normal in the heat of the moment now terrified her with its intensity. Their words. Their looks. Just…everything.

Wayne had been right. They could never break up. The man staring at her from the screen could wreck her as no other man ever could. After having witnessed their little show, she was in no doubt of that now. Not that she'd ever doubted it, but the visual sledgehammer of that footage was double-checking to make sure she understood.

_Wayne only. No one else. Got it, honey? _It informed her harshly.

She started the piece over, muting it so that she could concentrate on editing out the camera changes and smaller bits without getting too distracted. The visual stimulus was bad enough, but if she had to hear their screaming satisfaction, she'd never finish her project.

As she was downloading the final cut onto his phone, her work phone rang.

LISBON, the caller ID read.

She flipped it open. "Hey boss."

"Van Pelt," Lisbon greeted. "Listen, I need you and Rigsby on stakeout tonight. I know it's the weekend and it sucks, but it can't be helped. I'll text you the details and call if you have any questions. Got it?"

Grace smiled wanly. "Sure thing. We'll take care of it."

They said goodbye and hung up.

She was just about to curse their luck when an idea struck her. She looked down at Rigsby's phone. The no-nonsense piece of black plastic sat innocently in her hand. Her mind turned back to all of the wanton ideas that had flown through it yesterday morning as she'd sat at her desk.

Well, perhaps a stakeout wasn't as big of a mood killer as she initially thought. Perhaps she could…hmmmmm.

_Perhaps. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Uuuuugh," Rigsby moaned as he stretched out in the passenger's seat.

Grace smiled looked over. "Bored already?"

"Little," he admitted, smiling back. "But mostly I'm annoyed because we were supposed to go see a movie tonight. Instead we're here." He gestured into the night, their SUV parked on a quiet residential street. Lisbon had instructed them to sit on a Nissan sedan parked on the other side of the street. If anyone so much as touched it, they were to bring the offending party in. This stakeout draw was becoming a bit of an in-house joke. The car hadn't been touched in weeks, but the bosses insisted it needed 24-hour surveillance. Rigsby and Van Pelt had been the next names on the rotation.

Grace reached over and patted his knee consolingly. "Look at it this way, you're still sitting on your ass in the dark. It's almost like being at a movie."

Rigsby snorted. "Watching a parked car for eight hours. There's a reason I like Segal movies and not French Art House. Otherwise I'd be in hog heaven."

She snorted back and punched his arm playfully. "You do _not _like Segal. You're just saying that because it's the requisite macho man crap to spout when dissing French films."

"Hey! Segal's not _that_ bad. Remember? _Under Siege_ was hilarious. And French films do suck, that's a matter of observable fact."

She turned her head dramatically and lifted a single brow at him. "_Amelie_."

His gaze instantly lowered and he cleared his throat. "That was different."

"Ha!" she chortled. "You loved that movie. You laughed your ass off at the garden gnome thing and cried when she gave the old man that box from his childhood."

"I did _not _cry." His shocked and self-righteous tone made her laugh harder. "Anyway," he gruffed, "I said Art House, not Hack Romances Destined for International Flight Showings. Those are two different genres."

Grace leaned into the steering wheel and shrieked until tears pricked her eyes. She fell back into her seat, gasping and giggling until she caught her breath.

He smiled charmingly at her. "Did I win this one?"

Smiling back, she shook her head. "Worst reasoning I ever heard."

He sighed dramatically. "Well, then that's another thing I'm annoyed about."

She gave him a questioning look.

He reached out and brushed her cheek. "If we were at the movies and you started to sass me, I'd just kiss you to keep you quiet."

"Is that a fact?" she asked playfully. The image of him sealing his lips to hers rose up in her mind and made her giggle. After all, Wayne wasn't the forceful type who shut women up through brute strength.

_Christ, I love fucking you._

The words cut through her laughter and brought her up short. Her smile dropped as she relived the sight of him fucking her madly while hissing that he owned her.

A rough finger tapped her under the chin, bringing her back. She saw his questioning gaze. "You okay?" he asked.

_Say you're mine, baby._

She nodded, her eyes not leaving his tender stare. Her serious expression was starting to worry him. "Grace? Baby, what is it?"

She felt herself stirring under his affection. This was sweet Wayne. Caring, thoughtful Wayne. Oh, she loved this side of him so much that it filled her chest until it ached. But just under the surface was the other one. The one who answered to all of those words that had never fit him before.

_You like that I've fucked you everywhere?_

She had planned on seeing that Wayne tonight. The orders from work had clinched it. Sitting on this stupid car that wasn't going anywhere, she felt safe and reckless at the same time. Screw it. She had lines she wanted to cross. She wanted to summon the Other Wayne.

She called to him.

"Have you ever wanted two women at once?"

He looked startled. "What?"

She leaned towards him over the consol. "I mean in bed. Have you ever wanted to have sex with two women at the same time?"

His head pulled to one side, but his eyes stayed on her, gauging her seriousness. "Is this a trick question?"

"No," she shook her head. "It's a question just like the others I've asked you."

"No," he shook his head emphatically. "It's not. The other two questions involved you. This question involves someone else."

"Wayne, it's not a trick, I promise. I just want to know." She reached out and caressed his temple. "Have you?"

His eyes closed briefly as her fingers stroked him before he sighed. "Yes."

She smiled. Rough and splintered, that was her man. "Before we got together?"

He opened his eyes again. "Before I met you," he clarified.

She cocked her head, her hand wandering into his hair. "You never thought about it after we met?"

He shook his head again, his gaze resolute. "Not once."

She clucked her tongue. "What about now? Have you imagined it now that we're together?"

He grabbed her hand from his hair, holding it away from him. "What the hell would I need another girl for?"

She giggled, worming her fingers until they laced through his. "What did you need her for before we met? Was there a practical reason for wanting two?"

He blushed slightly and she grinned. "So tell me, there's me and a beautiful woman who want nothing more than to screw you silly. What do you do?"

He brought her hand to his mouth. He didn't kiss it like she thought he was going to, but instead pulled the pad of her index finger between his teeth and bit lightly. She inhaled sharply at the nip.

"I'd call a cab and send the nice girl home," he said with total conviction. "What you and I do? Would shame and shock a total stranger. Plus she'll never compare to you, so why embarrass her like that?"

He pulled her finger further into his mouth and curled his tongue around it, pulling hard and creating some very distracting suction. Grace shook her head to clear it.

"Push your seat all the way back," she ordered huskily.

He released her finger and leered at her. "Why?"

"No questions," she said. "Just do it."

"Think you can boss me around, little rookie?"

She smirked as he did it anyway, pulling the lever and putting a roomy three feet of space at his feet. "I can do better than that."

She crawled towards him, dropping a wet kiss on his lips as she levered partially into his lap before settling her knees on the floor between his legs. He leaned forward and down, preserving their kiss as she shifted low, just under the window's line of sight.

"What are you doing?" he murmured against her lips.

"We're on a stakeout," she whispered dramatically. "We can't afford to let people see us kissing on duty."

"What can we afford?" His smile disappeared and he hissed as she massaged him through his pants.

She smiled as she felt him grow rapidly under her hand. "You'd be surprised."

She unzipped and unbuttoned everything in her path over his stuttering questions, which she happily destroyed the moment her lips brushed his shaft. Suddenly his questions turned into slightly less articulate…

"Fuck!" he moaned hotly. "Grace, we shouldn't. We're working."

She took him deep and made him groan harshly before licking back up. She released him, crossing her arms over his knees and propping her chin on them. "I was just wondering if you'd prefer to watch an abandoned car for eight hours if I sucked you the whole time."

"Oh, Jesus," he fell back into the seat. "Baby, you'd kill me. You know you would."

She smiled, leaning forward again and straightening her tongue to a point, licking a thin line up and down the underside of his shaft. His left hand fisted and shot sideways, slamming into the driver's seat and making her jump.

"Fuck!" he shouted again.

And damn did it thrill her. "I can stop," she offered as her tongue danced over the angry veins protruding from his pounding erection.

"Don't you fuckin' dare," he hissed through clenched teeth.

She moaned and took him deep again. She didn't rush. They had so much time it was ridiculous. She lazily sucked him, up and down, up and down, until he was overheating like a Jeep in the desert.

"Graaaace," he panted. "Please. You can't do this for eight hours. I'll never make it. I need it harder!" he begged impatiently.

She released him with a pop and pulled his personal phone from her pocket. Looking down quickly, she pulled up the movie clip.

"I wonder," she mused, infuriating him with her unhurried pace. "I wonder if you actually can take it. I wonder, if you had the right visual aid, if I'd need to go any faster at all."

His glazed eyes gazed past his straining cock to her. "What are you talking about?"

She hit play and pressed the phone into his hands. "Another woman."

She lowered her head and took him again. As she resumed her favorite pastime, she heard the other couple moaning and growling as they slithered all over their tiny bed.

She listened carefully. She wanted to time this right. Rigsby was groaning loudly now, his other hand moving restlessly in her hair as he watched their little peep show.

She heard the dark man growl something playfully to the sex kitten. She answered him.

"_Warn you about what? That I want to touch you? That your cock is the prettiest toy I've ever had and I'd play with it all day if I could_?"

That was her cue. She upped her suction fractionally and bobbed quickly three times before slowing down again.

"Jesus-fucking-Christ!" Rigsby's hand tightened in her hair. She hummed softly, wanting him to feel the vibration, but not so loud as to ruin the show.

She glanced up at him. Just as she had been, Rigsby was transfixed. The glow of the phone lit his expression of shocked pleasure. He felt her gaze and looked down at her. She didn't pause in her ministrations, just moaned around him again to let him know how erotic she found the whole experiment.

"Fuck, baby," he whispered.

"_I need you. I need to feel you sliding inside me, stretching me out. Please, Wayne. Fuck me. Please_!"

Rigsby roared as Grace sucked harder again and as the dark man grabbed that wanton girl and plunged deep into her tight little pussy. "Oh, God…oh, GOD!...baby, I…ah, fuck, I can't…I just…look at you…both of you…so beautiful…fucking love you, baby…Jesus!"

"_Christ, I love fucking you….Say you're mine, baby…say I'm the only one_."

Rigsby roared again. He had no idea what to watch, him fucking Grace on the phone or Grace blowing him in real life, but then suddenly she was sucking him like she wanted to drag his brain out through his dick and he couldn't hold a single thought in the hurricane of ecstasy she was currently…

"_Yes, you're the only one_."

"Oh, my fucking God," he moaned loudly, his hips starting to buck against her mouth. "Baby, I love you so much. You're the only one, honey. You always were."

Grace moaned again and increased her speed while the second woman was busy getting fucked from behind and screaming that she loved taking it in the ass.

"Grace," he barked darkly. She looked up from her lollipop, not stilling her movements. He pinned her with the stare she recognized from the dark man in the film and felt her core clamp down with desire.

"Suck me so hard I scream your name." There would be no denying his order. He said as much in his straining hips and clenching jaw.

She lowered her head and obeyed.

Pulling him in, she deep-throated him in rapid successions while massaging his balls and moaning loudly. Her tongue ran marathons around his entire girth and length. She didn't resist his bucks, but instead relaxed and let him fuck her mouth as she worked him.

"_Fuck me, baby. Yes! Jesus, you look so good_."

He stiffened and gasped, his release imminent.

"_Fuck me back_."

He bucked hard and roared. Grace held on, still lifting and descending her lips as he emptied himself inside her. He shook like a leaf, gasping and jolting as he slowly came back to her. Lips still suckling him gently, Grace pried his phone from his limp hand and closed it. With one last, loving suck, she let him slip from her mouth.

Still wary of people seeing into their car, she stayed below the window, running her hands up his thighs and stomach, soothing him before she began putting his clothes back together.

He looked barely conscious by the time she finished. "Baby…my baby," he kept whispering through his haze.

She smiled, fighting the urge to climb into his lap. Instead, she climbed back into her seat, leaning into him as much as possible. "I'm here," she whispered back gently.

His head rolled slightly, looking towards to floor. "Where's my phone?"

She held it out. "Here."

He didn't reach for it, merely nodded his head. "Okay."

She reached over and stroked his arm as the last of his shivers left him. When he finally looked at her, she wasn't sure if he could see anything at all. His eyes were glassy, his pupils huge. She bit her lip to temper her smile. "You okay?"

"How the fuck did you do that?" he asked hoarsely.

She raised a brow. "Do what?"

"You fucked me twice," he explained in his strained, overwrought voice. "How the hell did you fuck me twice at the same time?"

She grinned with shy pleasure. "Two women at once, remember? Or at least, as close as I'd ever let you get to two women at once."

He gave a barking laugh, his head lolling. "That was so…I mean…Jesus, what can I say?"

Her hand tunneled into his. His fingers clasped to hers like drowning victims, weak but grateful for the rescue.

"Don't say anything, sweetheart. I'm just glad you enjoyed it."

"I don't think 'enjoyed' is the word I'd use. I think 'fell even more hopelessly in love with you' is a bit more ballpark."

"Ah," she teased, "but which one of us? The sex kitten in the porno, or your humble girlfriend and partner who sits with you on stakeouts and thinks Segal is a tool?"

His eyes narrowed with incomprehension. "There's no difference."

She smiled indulgently. Love goggles were a beautiful thing. "I'm glad you think so."

His head righted and he looked at her more carefully. "I don't _think_ so, baby, I _know_ so. This girl," he pointed at his phone, "and this girl," he ran a finger over her jaw, "are the same person. All the time."

She waved her hand modestly. "I don't know this girl at all." She wiggled his phone lightly in her hand. "I'd never seen her before today."

His fingers stilled on her jaw and moved to cup her cheek in a more possessive fashion. He leaned forward, his blue eyes cool and serious. "I see her _every_ day."

She wanted to look away, but he nudged her cheek and kept her gaze steady on his. He reached out and took his phone. "This girl is quiet. She's beautiful. She's smarter than anyone I know. She's so effortlessly sexy that I used to drive me insane. Still does. She makes love like a sinful angel. And she is the great love of my life."

Without breaking their stare, he pocketed his phone. "I plan to break this phone watching us, again and again and again."

She exhaled shakily. Knowing he meant every word, she nodded slowly. She understood. She would not disown her sexuality again. He forbade it.

He huffed, letting her go and falling back into his seat, still exhausted and needing a 15-minute nap.

"Wayne?" she asked softly before he slipped off to sleep.

"Hmmm?"

"You're forgetting the most important thing of all. Did anyone touch the car while I was…occupied?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

They got home early in the morning. Grace drove them to Rigsby's place since he was still seeing stars and couldn't risk driving. After their little tryst, he'd spent the rest of stakeout rolling his head and talking like an incoherent drunk. Given his incredibly slow recuperation, it had become quite obvious that she'd blown his brains out.

And that was fine by her.

Smug in her abilities and his honest opinion that she was the queen of all sex pots, she wrapped herself around him as they laid down for what was left of the night. His chest pillowed her head, and soon she felt his breathing even out and his heart rate slow as sleep took him deep. She smiled against him. She'd completely worn him out.

She lay awake for quite awhile.

Sleep had been generous with Wayne, but it was eluding her completely. Her lashes batted softly against his skin as she looked over the pale expanse of his chest. She watched it rise and fall. Rise and fall. The occasional twitch told her that he was dreaming. She ran her fingers lightly over his arm, reassuring him in case the dream was unpleasant. He sighed heavily and shifted, his arms tightening around her out of habit. She turned her head slightly and pressed her lips against his ribs. She'd learned long ago that Unconscious Wayne was fiercely possessive. Without his conscious mind, he'd kissed her in front of their entire team. Delirious on morphine, he'd confessed his love for her. In his sleep, he never let go of her for a single second and growled when she tried to slip away, tightening his hold as he rumbled his reprimand.

She couldn't help but feel special under his constant attention. And he was a vigilant man. Even in sleep, his body activated a series of pressure, heat and tracking sensors. Any movement, any attempt to leave him, set off these internal alarms and woke him up.

"Where ya goin'?" he'd asked sleepily.

She'd smile and answer. The bathroom. The kitchen. Nowhere, just moving over a little. He'd nod, readjust his hold on her, and slip back to sleep.

Many women would find it suffocating.

Grace found it exhilarating.

She luxuriated in his aggressive male tendencies, snuggling closer into his side and humming contentedly. She was past noticing that she'd never wanted those traits in her boyfriends before. She didn't bother summoning the energy to be shocked at herself for loving his greed. Or at her delight in their intensity. Their jealousies. Their reckless, almost violent sexual attraction that needed slaking constantly. These things didn't astonish her anymore. Maybe they never had, and maybe that's what had shocked her in the first place.

Either way, she was done with that now.

And because she was completely comfortable with where they'd taken their relationship, she couldn't help but wonder about taking it further.

Her thoughts slipped into a decidedly darker landscape. As her fingers traced the rigid lines of his bicep, she allowed herself to think about his strength in terms other than his restraint and ability to hold her so tightly. She pressed her index finger gently into the muscle. Despite its inertia, it seemed to shove right back, not giving an inch and pressing back into her finger same as if she was pressing into an oak banister.

It was the same arm that had gripped one of their suspects by the head and slammed it into a table, breaking his nose. These were the same arms that had nearly thrown Jane off of a building and onto the crushing pavement below. Many of their suspects resisted him; she'd seen the result in the form of bruises and blood.

_Rigsby has a brutal streak._

For a very long time, she'd repressed Jane's observation. At the time, she simply hadn't believed him. Especially after Jane had encouraged Rigsby to do whatever he liked and his immediate response had been to kiss her. The man had been given a blank check with no inhibitions to stop any baser wishes he might have had, and what had he done? He'd walked ten feet, folded her up in his arms, and kissed her like she was the only woman on earth. Who but a kind, gentle soul did such a thing? He could have run into their holding cell and shot every murderer they'd scooped up that day. He could have bought a Porche. He could have thrown her on a desk and forced a lot more than a kiss out of her.

But he hadn't.

He'd wanted a kiss. More than anything in the world. And when the hypnotist's pull had him pushing and struggling against everyone else so that he could leave, he'd instantly stilled and agreed when she had asked him to stay.

A talented mental manipulator had nearly made him a killer. Grace had sliced through their hold on him like warm butter and brought out his devoted, tender inclinations.

It made her wonder. Could both sides exist in him at once? The brute and the lover?

She mulled silently. Only one man could answer that.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next day, she found herself alone with him. Sitting in the kitchen and enjoying their cups of tea, Grace and Jane sat together at the dinette table after the other three had been called out to the field.

She smiled softly at him and he smiled back.

All in all, she liked their relationship. Jane, for all his teasing, seemed to treat her with a bit more sincerity than he did the rest of the team. The boys crowded around him, stroking his ego with their questions and bets against his abilities. Lisbon? Well, Grace suspected that Jane and Lisbon took special, sexually-frustrated delight in rubbing each other the wrong way. She was fairly sure they were close to pushing each other into a corner, and once they got there, they'd use their naked bodies as a means of extending the fight. Maybe they were already at that point. It was none of her business. She only wished that they found some sort of peace in each other and didn't simply use sex in their ongoing game of Chicken. In her opinion, love should never be a matter of who flinches first.

"Penny for your thoughts," Jane smiled as he stirred his tea.

She chuckled. "You could save your money and just read them."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Feel free to start a tab. I'd like to know what's got you so contemplative and staring into your cup. Looking for tea leaves?"

"Looking for the right broach to a delicate subject, actually. I'd like to ask you about something." She gazed at him with unguarded eyes.

"I'm all ears."

She was surprised. "You're not going to guess? You always guess."

His eyes crinkled kindly as he considered the young agent. "With most people, I would. But I'm sensing your topic is unique. I'm fairly certain it involves Rigsby, but outside of that, I don't wish to upset you by suggesting any specifics." He paused and sipped his tea. "You're an intensely private person, Grace, and you offend easily when I prod."

She smirked sheepishly. "That's about as exclusive a club as the white pages, Jane. You piss everyone off when you prod."

"But you want my opinion. I'll try not to piss you off until it becomes necessary."

She sighed and sipped her raspberry leaf. "All right, you win. I'll ask you straight out." She took a steadying breath and plunged. "I want you to tell me why you think Rigsby has a brutal streak."

His smile dropped a bit and his eyes narrowed sharply. He cocked his head, his gaze suddenly drilling into her skull and convincing her that he was indeed accessing her thoughts after all. She held his stare and let him. She prized honesty, after all. It would be hypocritical not to let him read her.

He pinned her for what felt like a very long time before he spoke. "I need you to rephrase your question."

"Why?"

"Because it's not what you want to know," he explained quietly. "You've already seen examples of his anger in his work. Even if I didn't read any further into him, those are evidence enough. And now you're involved with him. I assume you've seen sides of the man you never would have believed existed. Given his strength and his overpowering desire for you, there are probably dozens of instances when he startled you with the intensity and violence of his love. If he ever felt it for anyone else—which I sincerely doubt—he probably would have frightened them half to death."

He paused to sip again.

"But you're not frightened, are you, Grace?"

Her eyes still on his, she shook her head slightly.

"Then I'm curious to know what you want from me."

"I…" she dropped her gaze and looked for answers in her mug. "I want to know…if…he'd ever…" she struggled to word her thoughts.

He craned his head towards her, squinting in surprise. "Are you asking me if I think he'd ever hurt you? Physically?"

Her head shot up. "No! No, I know he wouldn't. He'd never let himself. No, I want to know…" she went back to fishing for the right words.

His expression smoothed with insight. "You want to expose yourself to his brutality. You want to see what would happen if that barrier disappeared."

She inhaled sharply and she looked down again. She sank lower in her chair, trying to hide behind her teacup. To hear her desire spoken out loud grated her ears and brought red to her cheeks. It sounded so sordid. Grace immediately felt ashamed to have brought it up in the first place. The silence between them felt pregnant with expectation. She finally raised her eyes to his, desperate and wide. She found no judgment in his face as he looked at her. She whispered softly. "Yes."

He nodded very slightly. "You feel wrong for wanting it. You think it's depraved. And you think it's unfair to him, that he'd be upset and unwilling if you asked it of him."

Her lower lip trembled slightly. "Yes."

He smiled softly. "I'm perfectly willing to assure you that exploration into people's darker desires is natural, Grace, if I thought for one minute that my opinion would comfort you. But you're not telling me everything. You have no reason to confide this to me of all people, unless there was something I could offer you."

She exhaled shakily and leaned forward a few inches. "You're the only person in the world who can help me find out what would happen if that…barrier…disappeared, as you put it."

His brow arched in mild amazement. Little Grace. Who would have guessed? "Grace, are you asking me to hypnotize Rigsby? Without his knowledge? You want me to place the suggestion that he should be violent with you?"

"I…" She swallowed. No, this was wrong. She shouldn't even be thinking about this! Hypnotize the man she loved without his knowledge? Without his consent? Put him into a dangerous frame of mind just to satisfy her tawdry curiosity? She tried to explain herself.

"I don't want him violent. Not exactly. I want the man who loves me. But at the same time, I want this other side of him too. I want this…Other Wayne. I don't want him withholding that side of himself."

"Aaah," Jane mused. "Because you want to know if you have the power to control it. You know you've conquered the lovesick schoolboy in him, but you want to know if your influence over him is enough to tame the beast. Correct?"

She swallowed again. Honesty, however precious, was an embarrassing bitch at times. "Correct."

They were quiet for a while. They sipped their tea and let the silence wash over them. Grace waited patiently while Jane held court, mulling her request in that sharp and twisted brain.

At length, he proclaimed.

"I refuse to put him under without his knowledge. Explain as much or as little as you want, but when he sits in front of me, he's trusting your reasons for letting me."

She nodded, her teacup now cold in her hands. "Okay."

"I also ask you to think carefully on this, Grace. I understand your curiosity, but you're asking me to unleash some very dangerous tendencies in unknown quantities. I know he's had a traumatic childhood, and I know he'd good at his job in enforcement. These facts alone will make him extremely unpredictable. I'll put a trigger in place so that you can stop him, if it comes to that, but I still need you to consider what you're doing."

She nodded solemnly. "I understand." She stood up, her legs wobbling slightly under her weight. "Thank you, Jane. Thank you for listening."

He gave her his patented smirk. "Talk to your boy. I'll be waiting."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

There was a smoky dive just across the street from his building. Grace had seen it a dozen times on her way to his place. Its tinted windows, neon signs and creepy outer atmosphere ensured that she never gave it a second glance. The bar fly life had never held any charms for her, and even if it had, that place was several rungs below what she'd consider decent drinking digs. As the adage went, what would a nice girl like her be doing in a dump like that?

But tonight didn't find a nice girl.

Tonight found a working girl. And she was making the rounds.

She sat at the bar in a tiny black dress that nearly counted as underwear. She fought her prim upbringing and kept her legs sprawled out suggestively instead of tucked together under the bar's ledge. Her eyes were blackened with smoky makeup. Her lips were ruby red. Her hands did their best not to shake as she reached for her drink and she took a sip of Dutch courage.

"_I don't understand." His eyes looked hurt. "Am I doing something wrong?"_

"_Never," she swore adamantly, framing his face in her hands. "You're perfect. You're everything I've ever wanted." _

"_Then I don't get it, why bring Jane into this? Why are you talking to him at all about us?" There was a slight spark of indignation in his tone. _

_She did her best to soothe it. "Because being with you has…I dunno…it's given me all of these ideas. Stuff I never would have even considered before. You," she kissed him softly, "make me feel so safe. I want to try everything with you. Every single thing."_

_He still didn't look convinced, his baby blues uncertain. "I'm willing, Grace. We don't need Jane for anything. Just tell me what you want and I'll give it to you. Surely, you know that by now. I'll give you anything you want." _

_She smiled at this. "Then I ask for your trust. Let Jane hypnotize you. You'll be aware the whole time and you'll remember everything afterwards, I promise." _

"_What will he tell me to do?" Grace could see his worry increasing. Already, he didn't trust himself to give up any control. "What are you going to make him suggest?" _

_Her smile became strained. She didn't want to tell him anything more. It would upset him, and Jane had explained that if Rigsby walked in upset, his subconscious would fight the suggestion. She needed him calm. _

_She stroked his cheeks. "Do you trust me, Wayne? Really trust me?" _

_He snorted softly, turning his lips into her palm. "You know I do." _

"_Then let me try this. Please? Just breathe deep and trust that I'll take care of us. Of you." _

_He opened his mouth to argue further, but paused when he caught her wide, encouraging gaze. He closed it again and sighed. "All right."_

All right.

All right?

Hell, Grace felt about as far away from all right as humanly possible. She'd explained to Jane what she wanted, and shortly after that he and Rigsby had met quietly in one of the interrogation rooms just before it was time to go home. While they were inside, Grace had packed up and left.

Jane knew where she'd be. He'd tell Rigsby where to find her. She knew they were finished, too. Jane had sent a text saying so. He'd also explained the trigger, should this little experiment of hers fly south and Wayne became too much for her to handle.

She liked the idea of him being too much for her to handle. She also feared it so much that her palms were breaking out in sweat.

And now that she was waiting for him, looking fit to kill and having no idea what kind of man was going to walk through that door. She felt so nervous that she was almost sick to her stomach.

What if Jane was right? What if the man he unlocked was dangerous? What if she upset him? What if he reacted with force like he had before? Was his love for her strong enough to overcome his violence if she provoked him?

She took another sip and shivered. That was the rub, right there. She knew he'd keep himself in line…unless she provoked him. And that was the plan. Have Jane tear down his restraint, and then aggravate him. Chum the water, bait the shark, and then jump in without a cage.

Christ, she had to be insa—

"Evening, pretty girl. Buy you another?"

A dark voice startled her from her thoughts and made her jump. She looked up from her glass and was confronted with a leering stranger.

A stranger disguised in her lover's body.

She swallowed slowly, shrugging indifferently. Time to play her part. "Can if you want."

His leer didn't slip as he sat in the stool next to her, turning towards her so that his knees brushed her bare legs and his gaze traveled appreciatively down her body. She tried not to shiver as she felt his eyes touch her everywhere. "You always accept drinks from strange men while wearing half a dress?"

She turned in her stool to face him, pushing her legs away from his, but accidentally giving him an eyeful of her ample cleavage. She glared coolly. "Only if the drink is leading somewhere else."

His eyes raised in amusement. Grace noticed that he was every bit as handsome as her sweetheart, but his sweet, boyish quality had disappeared entirely. He wasn't a cute guy tonight. He was a ladykiller. "You on the prowl, honey?"

She kept her eyes calm. No turning back now. Time to see how Other Wayne responded to an upsetting scenario. She threw the first bucket of blood into the water. _Here fishy, fishy, fishy._

"I'm on the clock."

The effect was instantaneous.

The flirtatious amusement died in his eyes. They became blue glaciers in a blink. He sat back slightly. When his eyes ran over her body a second time, a chilly, business-like quality entered his appraisal. "I see."

"Sorry to disappoint," she sipped her drink. "But I'm not here to meet Mr. Right. However," she drew her eyes over him with the same distant appreciation, "there's a table of doe-eyed women over in the corner just waiting for a tall, dark and handsome man like yourself to walk over and—,"

"How much?" He cut her off. His long frame settled backwards, his lower lip pressed upwards and accentuated the sexy curve of his mouth. She pretended not to notice. Her character wouldn't have.

She dropped her voice to a husky whisper. "That depends on many things."

When he smirked this time, it didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, I just bet it does."

She shrugged again and turned back to her drink, signaling that she didn't do business with angry, indignant men. "You obviously don't approve. I suggest you stop wasting your time with me. Go find a nice girl to charm with those big, blue eyes."

He was silent, but she could feel the heat of his gaze burning through her dress and cutting through her hair that had fallen across her face. _What was he thinking?_ she thought to herself. _What was he going to do?_

"My place is across the street. Shall we discuss your rates there?"

This surprised her. She turned back to him. "You're sure? You don't look like my average client." More blood flung into the water.

She saw the muscle tick in his jaw. Oh, yes. That had angered him. "Meaning?"

She pursed her lips. "Nothing. You just don't look like the type who'd need to pay."

He snorted derisively and stood up, holding out his hand. "First time for everything. You coming or what?"

She regarded his hand closely, not entirely trusting it. "Just across the street?"

He nodded sharply. She drew a resolute breath and stood up. As she did so, she caught him eyeing her legs. She was wearing four-inch heels, something she'd never worn for him before. There was a flicker of surprise in his expression. In these shoes, she was nearly as tall as he was. She grabbed her purse and took his hand. "Okay."

She felt her first glimmer of hope as she took his hand. Despite his overt aggression, his grip was warm and gentle. He didn't tug at her impatiently. He calmly led her out of that dingy joint, staying close as they walked across the way. His proximity allowed her to study him out of the corner of her eye as they made their way to his place. His gait, she noticed, was different. It wasn't angry, exactly. He wasn't bunched up or tense. But he wasn't loose either, nor did he turn into her like Sweet Wayne always did. Usually when he walked, he didn't simply fall in step beside her. He twisted his torso towards her, watching her, talking to her. His feet would slide sideways, opening his whole body towards her.

Someone else was walking beside her now.

He walked like a man in charge. He didn't turn towards anybody. He didn't talk. He didn't glance over. Walking shoulder to shoulder with him and nearly equaling his height, Grace still felt small. Sweet Wayne had always wrapped himself around her, even when they were just walking down the street. Other Wayne didn't wrap around. He bumped against.

It was a subtle difference. She gulped nervously.

He led her up the outside steps and along the landing to his door. He keyed the lock, pushed it open and gestured inside. "Ladies first."

She nodded and stepped inside the familiar front room in a totally alien circumstance. Her heels clicked loudly across the wooden floor as she wandered to the center of the room. She wiped her sweaty palms on down the front of her dress before she turned back to the sound of a closing door.

"So, this is your place," she offered by way of conversation.

Leaning against the front door, he made no move into the room. "Yep."

She turned slowly, pretending to look but really avoiding his penetrating stare. "It's nice."

"Thank you."

She sighed shakily and smiled. "Well, I normally start by asking you what you want."

Through his open collar, she saw his pulse throbbing steadily. Other than that, he was motionless. "What I want?" His voice had a light, mocking edge.

She nodded and licked her lips. "I can't give you my price until you tell me what you want."

"Right," he drew out slowly. "Your price." He pushed off the door and walked towards her slowly. The predatory glint in his eye made her take an involuntary step back. She'd seen his desire before, but there was something else…something threatening in the way he was looking at her. She inhaled sharply.

"What do I call you, sweetheart?" he asked.

She took another step back as he continued to stalk forward. "Hope."

"Hope," he whispered softly. "Very pretty."

"What do I call you?" She hadn't meant to whimper.

Without breaking eye contact, his hand slid down his chest and grabbed the hem of his lose shirt, pulling it away from his belt where his badge glinted in the dim light. "You can call me Agent."

_What?_

"Oh, shit," she uttered in panic. She was only half-pretending to be afraid. The way he was grinning at her, the leering sexual arousal she saw radiating off him as he took delight in cornering her, they caused a bolt of fright to spike in her chest. She gasped softly.

_I offer myself to him as a prostitute and he's going to arrest me?_

"Oh, shit is right, honey. You've propositioned an officer of the law. I'm afraid that's very, very bad news for you."

"I'm…I'm sorry," she sputtered softly. "I didn't realize." Suddenly her back hit the wall and he was right in front of her, his adorable face cut into angry lines. Suddenly her instructions to Jane smacked her across the face.

"_I want him play along, no holding back."_

_Jane had been skeptical. "You're planning to upset him." _

_She'd nodded. "In the worst way I can think of." _

And now here she was. She wasn't the love of his life like he wanted her to be. She was a whore. And he was just a john. He meant nothing to her. Never would. A thousand men had taken her and she'd gladly let them for a price. She knew this scenario would have hurt Sweet Wayne. He would have pulled his punches if he'd encountered her this way. But Other Wayne?

Her breath caught in her throat at the look in this man's eye.

Other Wayne was enraged. _No one_ touched her but him. _No one_ was ever allowed in her bed or her heart but him. She was forbidden to love anyone else. She was definitely forbidden to fuck anyone else.

"_I want him to react the way he wants to. I want him to say exactly what he's thinking."_

"_Grace, his reactions and words won't be soft." _

"_I know, Jane. I know." _

Her wide, liquid eyes met his. "Please. Please, don't arrest me. Just…just let me go. I promise I'll stay out of that place from now on."

He moved in even closer. His chest and hips brushed hers and she instinctively sensed danger and shoved herself even harder into the wall behind her. "You're not walking away from this, honey. I'm not letting you go, only to arrest you later for fucking some john in an alleyway. No," his voice dropped lower, "the best way to keep you from screwing for money is to lock you up."

She shivered against him and raised her palms to his chest, trying to put a barrier—however small—between them. "No," she mewled quietly. "Please."

He brought his hands up to the wall, trapping her head. He only had to lean down an inch or two to meet her lips before he whispered against them. "Tell me why I should let a whore walk?"

He'd said it out loud. Not honey. Not baby. Whore. Grace felt a chill of sublime, sinful pleasure that raised her hackles and made her nipples tighten against her dress. "Because I'm a good person," she offered breathily. "A good girl."

He laughed harshly and gripped her chin lightly in his hand, examining her, turning her face this way and that. "Too much lipstick for a good girl," he tsked her, releasing her roughly.

"Tell you what," he said, leaning back a few inches. "You do exactly as I tell you, and I might let you go instead of hauling your ass downtown."

She nodded quickly. "Anything. Please, just don't take me in."

"We'll see," he stepped away from her and walked over to his sofa, sitting down with his arms and legs spread wide.

She breathed in relief and stepped forward. She waited with nervous expectation as he eyed her. He obviously wanted something, but his lack of instruction was spooking her.

"What is it you want from me?" She was scared to ask, but he'd made it clear she couldn't go until she did as he said.

"I told you you're wearing too much lipstick for a good girl," he informed her with dark irritation.

She immediately brought the back of her hand to her lips.

"No!" he barked loudly, almost jumping off the couch towards her menacingly. She jumped and immediately lowered her hand.

He settled back again. "You're going to wrap your lips around my cock and suck until it's all wiped off."

_Oh, my God. _

Grace gasped loudly, her knees trembling as her fear level spiked at the same time as her arousal. Never, _never _had Wayne ordered her to suck him off. He'd asked. He'd teased. He'd stated. He'd even begged without shame. But he'd never looked her dead in the eye and commanded her to get on her knees. And _never _would he have used it as blackmail; within the scenario, make her do it against her will. She was terrified and angry and so turned on that she didn't know how to respond.

"Was I not clear?" he asked angrily, slowly starting to get up again. "I said come over here, take out my dick, put it in that gorgeous mouth of yours and paint it until your lips are nice and pink again."

He reached behind his back and yanked his cuffs out, dangling them from his fingers. "Or we can end this right now."

"No!" she cried out sharply. She came towards him slowly. "All right, I'll do it."

He smirked without apology. "Suck me like a pro, baby. It's the only way you're walking out of here. You bite me," he reached up and tugged her to her knees in front of him, "and you'll be very sorry."

He leaned back again. "Unzip me."

Grace bit her lips, edging further into the V of his thighs, and reached for his fly. "I do this," she whispered, "and I can just leave?"

He was already straining hard behind his jeans. He chuckled cruelly as she slowly opened his pants. "Absolutely. Just consider this pro bono work."

She carefully tugged him free of his clothes, gasping like she always did at how thick and beautifully hung her boyfriend was.

The scenario dropped away for a second as Grace admired him. He was still her sweetheart, the adorable man who loved and cherished her above all else. He had put himself into a dark place at her request. He was responding to the enraging idea that she didn't belong to him, and actually belonged to anyone who paid for her services. She had wanted to see this side of him. Now, having released it, she was going to obey his demands to the letter.

"You really don't need me," she whispered softly, tracing his shaft with loving attention. "You could have any girl you wanted."

She looked up in time to see his eyes soften slightly before he caught her looking and hardened them again. "I don't need the flattery part of your package. Just blow me until I tell you to stop."

She felt another course of wetness surge between her thighs at his harsh words. Still trusting him no matter what, she lowered her head and gently suckled his tip.

His loud hiss startled her. She flinched and looked up.

"_Don't_ look at me," he warned hotly, blue fire snapping in his eyes as his lips pulled back in pleasure. "Keep your eyes down."

She moaned around his tip and lowered her gaze. Her core began to throb and clench as she worked her lips lower down his girth. He was hard as steel in her mouth. His familiar taste filled her and drove her wild. And his terrifying alter ego gave her the same death-defying rush that she imagined acrobats felt, the only difference being that, thanks to Jane, she was working without a net. She had to keep him happy. Or else. Right now it didn't seem to be a problem.

"Just like that," he grunted. He began stroking her loose hair as she worked him slightly faster in her mouth. She did as he wished, pushing her lips hard into his velvety skin and smudging his cock with rings of red. Out of the habit of wanting to please him, she pinched his base between her fingers and shook in double time with the strokes of her tongue. He groaned and gripped her hair harder, guiding her as she moved.

"That's right, honey…suck me…Christ, that feels good…too fucking good…You blow every guy like this? Huh? Just another dick to suck dry?"

She lifted slightly and shook her head, still looking down. He snorted and pushed her head back down. "Of course not. I'm special, right?" He cupped her cheeks and drove up slightly into her mouth, fucking her for her dishonestly. "Don't lie to me, bitch. Don't tell me you're some beautiful cocksucking angel who fell from Heaven just to blow _me_."

He thrust into her mouth again, growling with lust.

Grace moaned again, her throat filling with him. Bitch. Angel. Other Wayne certainly had an exhilarating way with words. She had to remind herself that it was all make-believe. She wasn't really a whore. He wasn't really a bastard. This was a situation of her own making. She redoubled her efforts to make him happy.

She sucked him so hard that her cheeks hollowed out.

"Fuck!" he barked loudly.

She released him and licked her way to his balls. "You taste so good," she whispered distractedly, loving how the loose skin tightened under her tongue. "I don't usually like doing this with johns, but you," she sucked his sack lightly, "you're different. You're delicious."

A huge bucket of blood thrown right in the great white's face. It was a terrible risk and she knew it. She was being completely honest, of course. He _was_ delicious. She only enjoyed this act with him and never really had before. But in their scenario, he could easily construe it as shameless flattery, designed to win him over and let her go. She supposedly blew men for a living. Why would he be any different?

She felt him watching her intently as she continued to lick him like ice cream. She just closed her eyes and let herself enjoy it, hoping he saw her sincerity. When she pulled his sack gently into her mouth and nursed it while her hand worked his shaft, he bucked hard and whispered one word that made her heart sing.

"Baby," he rasped quietly.

Grace hummed around him and shivered with delight. Sweet Wayne had just said that. She was certain of it. It was such a soft, loving sound. He was there too, not just the anger, but the sensitive man who knew this was all a sham. He loved her and loved when she adored his body like this. He believed he was special. Even though he was under a powerful suggestion telling him otherwise, she had the power to convince him he was loved.

For a moment.

"Stand up," he ordered low.

She looked up in surprise. Gone already was the man who's whispered to her so lovingly. Other Wayne had taken control again. He was still in her mouth, straining into her tongue and lips, but his words were implacable. She let him slip from between her lips. He smiled darkly as he looked down at himself.

"Look at all that lipstick," he motioned to the bright red color painting his skin. He reached out and trapped her cheek in his palm and brought her face within an inch of his. "You might be an amazing little cocksucker, sweetie, but at least you don't look like one anymore." His thumb grazed her clean lips.

She trembled in his hand. "Is that all? I can go now?" Was that really all he wanted? Was he going to end this after a few minutes of fellatio? She waited with wide eyes.

"Stand up," he repeated. "Don't make me say it again."

She nodded timidly and obeyed, getting to her feet between his thighs. He gazed lecherously as her bare legs stretched out in front of him, their slim supple lines ending just underneath her tiny black dress. Without warning, he reached out and slipped his hand between her inner thighs and cupped her.

She gasped sharply, nearly collapsing at the sudden invasion while he grunted in aroused fury when he came into contact with nothing but smooth skin.

"Waxed," he purred. "Waxed and soaking wet. You've clearly found your calling."

"You…" she rasped brokenly. "You said I only had to suck you and I could…go…oh, God."

His fingers worked their way between her slippery folds and began stroking softly while his words fell like jagged stones.

"I said you had to suck me," he rumbled, slipping a single finger into her core and making her jolt. "I didn't say that was all you had to do."

"Damn you," she hissed. Half of her meant it. For him, she was instantly this woman. This whore. She'd give him anything he wanted, any way he wanted it. It drove her crazy to know he had that power over her.

Still fingering her softly, he reached down and jerked his badge off his belt before standing up and circling around her. She faced an empty couch as he stood behind her, one hand buried between her thighs and creating enough electricity to power Detroit. She sobbed softly as his finger pulled out of her and slid up to her clit where it rubbed in slow, agonizing circles.

She cried out when something cold slipped between her legs, just where his finger had been. Its wide, bumpy surface pressing into her pussy and rubbing back and forth, creating sensations that had her bucking into him against her will and keening.

"Look at you," he hissed in ear. His two hands worked between her legs as he spoke. "Look how bad you want it. Don't whine to me about leaving," he moved to her other ear, "when it's so obvious that you need to get fucked."

"I don't need anything." Hope's character spat angrily. "So fuck you."

He laughed and pressed harder between her thighs and she cried out, furious with herself for letting him see her pleasure. He removed his hands and showed her.

"Look what you've done," he hissed hotly. His badge was glistening between his fingers. He'd been using it to rub against her folds. "You got come all over my badge. What kind of girl gets this wet when she's barely been touched?"

"Fuck you, cop," she hissed louder, shocked by the sight of his badge dripping with her excitement. This man, whoever he was, had a shocking talent for erotica.

She gasped again when her tiny dress was yanked clean above her hips and her bare ass felt his pulsing cock brush against it.

"Oh, I'm going to get fucked. Don't you worry, baby." He threw his badge on the couch and gripped her hips in both hands. "Lean forward."

She whimpered. "Please," she entreated. She wanted and feared him so much that he knees were shaking. "Please."

Her plea fell on unsympathetic ears. His hands slid over her outer thighs in sleazy strokes as he spoke. "Lock your knees, baby. Keep'em that way until I'm finished."

She whimpered again and leaned forward, bracing her hands on the couch cushions. She heard him groan appreciatively at her submissive position, her flawless ass and dripping center exciting his already feral hormones. She felt him position himself at her entrance. A familiar feeling. But the context was outrageous and she was more than a little scared. His hands tightened on her hips as he readied himself, purposefully delaying his entry to make sure he had her full attention.

"Now," he grated softly. "I'm gonna fuck you, Hope. I'm going to fuck and fuck and fuck some more until your little pussy is begging for mercy. I'm going to make you sorry you ever chose this line of work, honey." He ran his finger gently over her folds again and she sobbed.

"I'm going to wreck you."

He removed his finger, gripped her in both hands and drove deep.

"Aaaaaaah!" Grace cried loud and long as he thrust sharply all the way inside her, stretching her throbbing core and filling her with terror and lust. She heard him growl as he yanked her backwards and thrust again, no tenderness in his actions as he drove deep and moaned harshly behind her.

"_Sooooo_ good," he breathed reverently.

He thrust again roughly. His eyes nearly crossed as her clenching walls squeezed him with equal amounts of love and fright. Thanks to Jane's trance, he had almost no self-control. He began to pump at a forceful, punishing pace. "I bet your johns pay in diamonds for a fuck this tight."

"Oh, my God!" Grace cried out from her bent position as he pistoned in and out of her. Huge amounts of adrenaline were pumping through her system. His cruel words and brutal thrusts made the sensations he was creating in her body all the more amazing. Thankfully rough sex wasn't unusual for them. Not only could she could take it without pain, she arched her back and gave him a better angle for deeper penetration.

He felt his cock slip deeper inside her and chuckled darkly, caressing the globes of her ass before pulling back and slapping it lightly. "Tight as a virgin, but begging for it like a slut. You like this?" He drove in three, hard thrusts, making her groan with each one. "That's right," he slapped her ass again. He stopped mid-thrust and held still inside her. Grace immediately sobbed with impatience and asked for more.

She heard his smile. "You want it so bad? Fuck me then."

She whimpered and obeyed once again, rocking back on her high heels, filling herself with him as she glided gently back and forth.

He moaned hotly at the sight of her beautiful body welcoming him in again and again in soft little strokes. Her position didn't give her the leverage to push hard, so she concentrated on leaning all the way forward, letting him slip almost all the way out before leaning back and consuming all of him again.

It felt so wildly good that words fell from her lips without her knowledge. "Yes…please, baby…more…I need harder…you feel so good…so big…love how you fuck me…please…"

She didn't see what her words did to him as she rocked gently back and forth on his dick. She couldn't see the battle in his eyes as his rage at their game and his overwhelming love for her fought for control over his mouth and body. Sweet Wayne wanted to toss her over his shoulder, take her into his bed, and make love to her gently all night long. Other Wayne didn't want this whore anywhere near the bed where he took his girlfriend. She wasn't clean enough. Wasn't angelic enough. He just wanted to punish her for being Hope instead of Grace. He roared his frustration as the two sides attacked each other for dominance.

She gasped when he grabbed her hips mid-rock and jerked her backwards, impaling her. "Yes!" she murmured hotly, squeezing her inner muscles, rewarding him for giving her the force she wanted.

"You like how I fuck you?" he asked menacingly as he resumed his manic pace.

"Yes," she answered breathlessly.

"What about this?" he rumbled, his thumb pressing deep into her ass. "This part of your package, too?"

She exhaled sharply at the invasion and answered without thinking. "No."

"Please," he snorted, pressing harder into the tiny hole and receiving a pleasured sob in return. "Everything's for sale with you. You're a hooker."

"Not that," she retorted angrily and she gripped the cushion, fighting the ecstasy off so she could think clearly. "The only man I've ever loved owns that. No one else."

He moaned with pleasure and Grace's eyes rolled up at their conundrum. She was refusing him entry, but only because it belonged to the real him and not some jerkoff cop who blackmailed hookers into fucking him.

She didn't have long to contemplate the irony as his pounding thrusts made her orgasm and tore a scream from her throat. She bucked into his hips, her body clenching him and dragging him further inside. "Yes!" she shrieked mindlessly, her whole body shuddering with euphoria. "Oh, my God, yes. Fuck me! _Wayne_!"

Another terrifying battle flitted through his eyes as his angel screamed his name in ecstasy.

As she panted and sobbed her way through the last ripples of pleasure, the conflicted man withdrew from her fluttering, beautiful heat and eased himself gently into her ass, one careful pump at a time.

Grace, nearly insensible from her release and ingnorant about his destination, tensed instantly and almost collapsed into the couch.

"I said lock your knees," his words were harsh, but his voice was soft.

"I told you," she said brokenly, already loving the way her body slowly opened to his assault. "That belongs to one man."

"Oh, we'll see." He gently pushed until her body embraced all of him, her impossibly tight heat boiling him alive and forcing reverent obscenities from his lips.

As he began to pump, he asked over her soft moans. "Tell me, Hope, does he fuck you in the ass as good as I do? Did you moan this sweet when he took this cherry?"

She murmured something he couldn't hear.

"What?" He drove slightly harder.

"He's perfect," she called out in a groan. "He's the best fuck I've ever had and I love him."

He sped up and Grace nearly blacked out with over-stimulated pleasure.

It took all of Rigsby's strength no to black out with her, but his warring factions wouldn't let this impossible situation go. The sweet schoolboy and the animal fought tooth and nail inside him as he continued to plunge between her tight walls.

"No!" he gritted out, yanking her hips against his and letting his hands rove over her dress. "This is mine." He clasped his hands wide over her body, meaning all of her.

"Ha!" she purred cruelly. "I'm a hooker, remember? I'll walk out of here and fuck a hundred guys by morning. And every single time I'll be thinking about _him_. He's everything to me." She remembered something he'd said on their stakeout and threw it back at him. "He is the great love of my life."

The schoolboy. The animal. The man who walked between the two worlds. They all roared in fury as he drove without mercy into her ass.

"_I_ fuck you!" he raged. "I _love_ you! No one else. Another man even looks at you and I'll kill him. _You_ ever look at another man and I'll chain to our bed. You hear me?"

His frenzied thrusts pushed her over again. She screamed for the second time with his name tumbling from her lips. "Yes!" she agreed willingly. "Love you! Just you! Wayne, oh, my God. _YESSSSSSSSSS_!"

Her submission to him is what did him in. As she—Grace—screamed out to him, he drove deep one more time and came with an agonized shout. Without a condom, his semen shot deep into her body, his eyes clenching tight as all of his different factions froze up in ecstasy and screamed for the one woman whom all of them loved.

"Grace," he called out hoarsely. It was the first time he'd said her name.

Grace nearly sobbed in triumph as she felt him shiver against her back, the residual waves of pleasure nearly dropping him to the floor. She disobeyed his command and stood up. Their bodies were still link as she reached her arms back and clasped them to his neck. "Wayne," she whispered gently. "My Wayne."

He panted harshly in her ear. She could feel the sweat drenching his nape as his arms slid around her waist and held her to him with aching tenderness. "Grace," he answered. "_My_ Grace."

They held each other for a moment as they slowly came back down. Still clothed but not even noticing, they held each other until their brains finally rebooted.

She turned slowly in his arms, disengaging from him before searching for his hug. She wanted to just dive straight into his chest and under his chin, but he held her off gently.

His eyes, though much calmer, still looked conflicted as she gazed at them with sated happiness. "Come here," he pulled her with him down the hall. He led her by the hand into his bathroom where he ran a cloth under some warm water. Her dress was still pulled up to her waist, so he carefully pulled her to him, lifting one of her feet to the rim of the tub. Smiling at her, he held her by the waist and slipped the cloth between her legs, cleaning her off with gentle dabs.

She closed her eyes and smiled back. She knew _this_ man well. When he finished, he cleaned himself off quickly before leading her to his room where he quickly unzipped her dress and shirked out of his own clothes. She kicked off her very high heels and suddenly their noticeable height difference was restored.

Pulling the covers back, he laid her down gently before slipping in beside her.

She tried to hug him again, but again he stopped her.

Her eyes widened, hurt. "I can't hold you?"

He smiled gently and shook his head. "Take me out of it first."

She cocked her head and stroked his cheek comfortingly. "You're already out of it. I heard it in your voice." She gave him an encouraging look.

He shook his head again. "I'm not. I can feel it. And I'm not touching you again until I know I can control myself."

She continued to caress his cheek. "You were amazing tonight. You made me feel things…I…I don't even know how to explain." She sighed.

He reached up and stilled her hand. "Grace. Please."

She nodded slowly and reached for him. When he pulled back sharply, she only smiled and explained. "The trigger. I need to touch you for the trigger."

He relaxed again and she cupped his cheeks in her hands and pressed a soft kiss into his lips. "Delaware," she whispered against them.

Neither quite knew what to expect at her incantation. Rigsby didn't turn into a pumpkin, nor did he morph into a respectable Victorian copy of Dr. Jekyll. His body didn't change at all. Only his eyes flooded with intense relief and he returned her soft kiss, folding her up in his arms and pulling her flush against his naked body. She sighed happily and came willingly.

"Do you feel different?" she asked as she wrapped him in a hug of her own.

"A little," he murmured, skimming kisses down her throat. "Jesus Christ, baby. What have I done to you?"

His lament made her smile. Oh, if only he knew. "You trusted me," she answered, pulling his face back to hers so that he could see her lack of fear or pain. "And you let me experience you without any control."

She kissed his forehead reverently as he let out a shaky sigh. "It felt like rape, sweetheart."

She pulled back quickly and shook her head. "It felt like Heaven. Everything you did, I wanted. Don't ever doubt that." She pulled herself higher on the pillows and urged him to rest his head on her chest. Broken and exhausted, he came without a struggle. As his cheek nuzzled her breast, she giggled as his soft hair tickled her chin. She held his head in both hands, stroking his hair as she spoke.

"I've asked a lot from you. I know it. But I expected and wanted everything that we did tonight. I only hope that you enjoyed it as much as I did."

He was silent.

She continued to pet him, letting him process in his own time. At length, he spoke. "It fuckin' terrifies me how much I enjoyed it."

She hummed contentedly. "I'm very glad to hear it."

His arms went around her back and he squeezed her so hard that she gave a gasping giggle.

"It's not funny," he hissed hotly against her breast. "I could have really hurt you."

She stopped laughing and held him closer. "Don't you see, baby? Nothing you do can hurt me. You could break my bones during sex and I'd probably die from pleasure. You," she coasted her hands over his back and arms, "are perfect. Your reaction will never be wrong. I learned that tonight. And just you watch. Tomorrow morning I won't have a single scratch on me."

He huffed in frustration. "I loved how we felt tonight," he conceded, "but I don't want you to ever be afraid of me again. I could hear it in your voice and I couldn't stop myself from absolutely loving it. I wanted you to be afraid." He confessed dejectedly.

"And I wanted you to be angry," she countered evenly. "We're even."

He sighed again. "Sleep in my arms tonight. I need you close."

She laughed musically. "I always sleep in your arms."

"Closer," he argued, pushing more tightly into her. "Christ, I can never get close enough."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Rigsby now had firsthand knowledge about what it felt like to be in a twenty-car pileup if he had happened to be driving every single car involved in the crash. Every bone, every muscle, every tiny little capillary had been crushed. Twenty times over. And strangely? In a good way.

Sitting at his desk the next morning, he ruefully remembered that he'd sworn to Hope that he was going to wreck her last night.

As he tried to drag air into his metaphorically flattened ribcage, he had to force a chuckle. From the carnage of his body, it was very clear who had wrecked whom.

Lisbon poked her head about from her office and called into the bullpen. "Rigsby. Jane. The Wilson widow says she knows who's responsible for our double homicide. Go talk to her and find out what she knows." She eyed Jane as his head surfaced from his couch and turned towards her. "Don't set any fires you're not going to tend, Jane."

He tossed his hands up in innocence, not bothering to rise further off the couch as Lisbon disappeared back into the glass cube. His head craned farther as he turned his gaze to Rigsby. "Go for a ride in the car, big dog?"

Rigsby chuckled despite himself and grabbed his jacket as he rose from his chair. "I'm not a Great Dane, you jerk."

Jane grinned as he rose from his couch and pulled his keys from his pocket, jingling them enticingly. "Aw, good boy. Who'sa good boy? Go for a ride? Huh? Wanna go for a ride in the car?"

Rigsby punched the smaller man none too gently in the shoulder as they made their way downstairs. He didn't look at Grace as he passed her desk and she didn't look up. They were still feeling happy, but were still processing last night's encounter. Jane recorded their downturned heads without thinking and filed it away.

Rigsby drove despite Jane's offer. As they took off down the highway towards the widow's home an hour away, Jane leaned back into the plush seat and closed his eyes, thoroughly set on a nap. The sun was warm on his face and the pull of the engine and the presence of another person lulled him into the first shallow stages of sleep.

But his companion, an open book easily read, surprised him with a question.

"So what was the suggestion you gave me, Jane?"

Jane's eyes opened slightly. There was no real hesitation in Rigsby's question, nor did he detect any embarrassment. Interesting.

He was intrigued enough to answer without the requisite teasing. "I told you that whatever scenario Grace created was real. I told you to let yourself respond to that scenario. No indecision. No fear."

Rigsby looked over briefly. "That's it? Grace didn't…" he cleared his throat. "She didn't give you more details than that?"

Jane's eyes fluttered shut again and he smiled. "She only said that she wanted you to respond to an upsetting situation without any restraint. She said that she was going to tell you something about her, and that she wanted you to believe it and react. Period." He cracked one eye open and glanced at the younger man. "What did she tell you?"

_Fuck off_, nearly jumped off Rigsby's tongue. Instead, the truth slipped out before it had the chance. "She told me she was a hooker and tried to sell herself to me."

Jane's second eye opened. Rigsby glanced over and saw that familiar amusement dancing in the blue. "And what did you do?"

_Fuck off_, tried to make a break for it again. Again, it was beaten to the punch. "I threatened to arrest her unless she fucked me."

A deep chuckle was startled out of the physic at his unblushing honesty. "My goodness. You kids today."

"Did I do wrong?" Rigsby's question clipped into Jane's laugh and silenced him with the worry he heard in it.

He shifted in his seat, sighing and shaking his head. "I think you did exactly what you wanted to do and exactly what Grace hoped for. I explained to her several times that your reaction to a red flag might be frightening. She understood perfectly, Rigsby. Whatever passed between the two of you, she was a willing participant."

He paused as he watched the agent chew on his words. "Was she frightened?"

Rigsby blew out a breath. "Yee-ep."

"Did she at any point try to stop you? Did she call you by name to try and reach you?" He paused again. "Did she use the trigger to bring you out of it?"

Rigsby felt blood rush to his cheeks. He felt beyond embarrassed having this conversation. _He'd _been the one telling Grace that they didn't need Jane's involvement, after all. But sitting in a car with him, knowing what they both knew, and wanting an unbiased opinion about his actions drew the questions from him against his privacy-loving inclinations. Jane was already involved anyway, he reasoned. Might as well make the most of him.

He cleared his throat again. "No, she didn't try and stop me. She never used my name. Not knowingly, anyway." He blushed again as he remembered Grace screaming his given name as he pushed her up and over two bone-melting orgasms. Jane smirked, reading his mind. "And no, she didn't use the trigger. She only did so when I asked her to afterwards."

Jane reached out and patted his shoulder affectionately. "Then you did nothing wrong. On the contrary, I think you've given something to Grace that she would never dared look for in another man."

Rigsby cocked his head. "How do you mean?"

"Weeell," Jane drawled. "Not to describe your own woman to you, but Grace is a very watchful creature when it comes to men. Skittish, I'd venture. I won't anger you with any guesses as to why she's so gun shy with the opposite sex, but I'd certainly say that there's never been a man in her life that she trusts as implicitly as you. For the first time, she's letting her bolder, more adventurous sides show because she knows she's with someone who loves her without question, won't judge her and certainly won't hurt her." Jane looked over, gauging Rigsby's reaction. "She's unusually concerned about getting hurt."

Still watching the road, Rigsby's eyes clouded. "I could have hurt her last night. Jesus, Jane, I was furious. Part of me wanted to beat the shit out of her for hurting me so bad."

"Exactly," Jane nodded wisely. "And you didn't. So what does that tell you? You had no control, but you didn't hurt her. Instead you're both glowing this morning. You both enjoyed it. Doesn't that justify her trust?"

Rigsby sighed heavily and said nothing. Jane nodded again, certain that Rigsby got the point. He settled back and closed his eyes again, not realizing the conversation wasn't over.

"So what do I do now?"

Jane groaned in mild irritation. "About what?"

Rigsby shrugged. "I dunno. I just feel like…like Grace has been showing her bold, adventurous side to me for awhile now and I…oh, I don't know." He waved off his own question and went back to watching to road without blinking. "Never mind."

Jane watched him, his gaze making the agent uncomfortable, as he worked out what the shy man was trying to say. Then, just like with Grace, his expression became one of insight. "Tit for tat."

Rigsby glanced over. "What?"

Jane smiled wider, understanding perfectly. "This woman has been driving you crazy sexually. She's pushing all your buttons. She experimenting on you like a chimp. She keeps calling the shots and you love where she takes you, but you want the reigns for a change."

Rigsby cringed. Damn the man and his big, stupid brain. Why did he even bother trying to hide stuff from him? Rigsby huffed. The analogy of a chimp chaffed him especially. Once again, he was a lower primate caught willingly in a trap. He clucked his tongue in annoyance. "I had the reigns last night," he defended lamely, immediately ashamed that he was engaging in bragging rights about his sex life with Grace.

"Did you?"

Rigsby rolled his eyes. Patronizing fuck. "Didn't I?"

Jane put his hands up, much as he'd done to Lisbon earlier. "Not spoiling for a fight, big man. Merely pointing out that while you had power, Grace was in control. She set it all up and had the ability to stop it at any time. You didn't."

A derisive snort issued from the driver's seat. "And so, what? You're saying that now I want to get even? I want to push Grace's buttons and drive her crazy?"

"Don't you?"

"Ugh," Rigsby moaned. "God, you're insufferable."

"Please," Jane retorted. "You love the idea so much that you're already thinking up ways to drive her absolutely insane. For once, she won't have clue what's going on and you're going to eat it up. You've never felt confident enough in your relationship to push at her, but after last night, you feel you've earned the right. Lie to me and say otherwise. Dare ya."

Rigsby snorted again and chose annoyed retreat. Jane harrumphed and chose smirking victory.

Silence owned the rest of the ride.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rigsby questioned the widow while on autopilot. After their little conversation, he was having trouble concentrating on the task at hand. His mind kept drifting back to the psychic's observation. _Tit for tat_. It was interfering with his ability to focus on this woman's bullshit story. Thank God Jane was there to poke and prod with bizarre accusations and impertinent guess work. Turns out she merely had a grudge against a former lover and was hoping to pin their double homicide on him.

Jane sussed it in less than seven minutes.

Leaving her crying and asking for forgiveness for her deception, the two men saddled back up and drove back to the CBI. All in all, Rigsby spent nearly all of the three hours to get there, question her and get back thinking about something else.

_Tit for tat._

It was true. It had never really occurred to him to push at Grace the way that she'd been pushing at him. Jane had called it, he did love where she took him. In the most delightful sense of the metaphor, she _was _experimenting with him. She was introducing new stimuli. Forming hypotheses and testing them carefully. She was asking questions. She was examining him carefully. She wanted to learn where their edges were. What got her excited? What made him tick? What made _them_ tick?

His sexy little geek. She was analyzing.

It made him wonder. After all, he mused, experiments have baselines. They have control groups. And—most of all—they had variables. He chewed on that as the elevator doors opened and they found Lisbon waiting impatiently for them on the other side.

"Tell me she gave you the killers wrapped in fancy paper and a big pretty bow."

Jane smiled pleasantly. "She gave us a line of jealous crap leading nowhere. Rigsby, did that crap come in fancy paper and a big pretty bow?"

Rigsby smirked and shook his head. "I believe it came wrapped in crumpled gasoline and fast food receipts." He held them up. "Nice to know we spent $32.17 for a goose chase, don't you think, boss?"

Lisbon snapped them up irritably. "I'll send them over to Finance. Damn it all to hell. We're back to Square One."

Jane shushed her and took her by the hand, leading her back to her office with vague platitudes about how useful geese and squares can be. Lisbon huffed and allowed herself to be led physically, but continued to argue with his nonsense as they walked away.

Rigsby saw Grace walk into the kitchen. She was wearing her hair in what he liked to think of as her Sexy Librarian Bun. She was also wearing that black V-neck that accentuated her lovely throat and elegant collarbone.

_Variables._

He didn't think.

He strode right over to her and took her by the hand. She started and looked up from her coffee cup. She didn't have time to say hello or tsk him for touching her at work. He pulled her swiftly one of the observation rooms and locked the door behind them.

"Wayne!" she hissed. "What are you—?"

He pressed her up against the door, lowered his lips to her throat and bit down, sucking and nibbling as she gasped and pressed her palms into his arms.

"Stop," she moaned softly. "Baby, stop. People will see."

He sucked harder, marking her flawless skin with a prominent love bite that would be visible in a matter of minutes. He fought hard to disobey her. His immediate instinct was to mind her request. But he had his own little experiment that needed exploring, so he ravaged her neck until he was sure his bite would show.

She was sagging into him when he finally released her. Her eyes were already dark and heady when he pulled back to look at them. He saw so much desire in them, which soothed him considerably. He hadn't crossed too big a line. Her hand went to her neck, over his mark. She knew. He held her gaze, wordlessly confirming that yes, he'd bitten her for the express purpose of leaving a vibrant bruise. Her breathing was soft, but heavy.

"Why?" she asked quietly.

He smirked. "Wear a skirt tomorrow."

He reached behind her and unlocked the door, setting her aside gently and leaving quickly. He didn't explain himself. He didn't suggest she take her hair down to hide his bite. He didn't whisper that he loved her.

_Variables, baby_.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Rigsby was relieved that he didn't see Grace for much of the rest of the day. She was working with Cho with some witnesses, so it kept her busy in the interrogation rooms, just opposite of the observation room where he'd bitten her an hour before. When she did finally emerge, her hair was indeed down and scattered around her neck, obscuring his mark from view.

He kept his eyes on his computer. He didn't want her to see his satisfied curiosity. He wanted her to see a calm, collected professional doing his work with detached efficiency, no sideways glances, no emoting of any sort. Certainly not the kind of man who attacked female colleagues in locked rooms. No ma'am.

He hoped like hell that confused her.

Unfortunately that also meant that he couldn't clock her reaction to his newfound stoicism, and for the rest of the day he had to keep his eyes forward and his mouth shut. Unlike Cho, he'd never been a military man and he chaffed badly under the self-imposed discipline. But endure he did.

Jane had been right. As usual. His mind was already flush with all kinds of wrenches that he wanted to throw into his girlfriend's careful experiments. What would she say to this? How would she respond to that? Suddenly he understood her delight in examining their relationship from these angles. It was fascinating. It was hot. And it was just little bit scary.

She was blowing his skirts up, as his uncle used to say. Thrilling and shocking him with every touch and whisper. He wanted to know…could he shock her just as wonderfully?

By the time they got home that night, he'd solidified his plan.

It was well past nine when Grace fell across the couch, her head landing in his lap as the rest of her stretched out comfortably. He smiled down at her.

"Grrrrr," she moaned as she scissored her legs, working them loose. "Long day."

His hands covered her stomach and forehead. "Poor baby," he crooned smilingly.

"You're not tired, too?" she looked up at him in surprise. "We've been at the office for over twelve hours."

"I know," he answered as he stroked her hair softly. His fingertips skittered over her navel at the same time, making soothing little circles.

She closed her eyes and hummed contentedly. "So." She lifted an elegant hand and swiped her hair away from her throat, exposing his now very impressive love bite right over her jugular. His hand stilled in her hair as he looked at it. Deep purple and almost two inches across, it was a very angry and obvious hickey. He fought to keep his eyes neutral, hoping his concern that he'd bitten too hard didn't show. He continued to stroke her hair and tummy, his expression blank.

"So," he repeated mildly.

She smirked at him playfully. "Care to explain this, Agent Rigsby?"

_Admit nothing_. "Explain what?"

"This!" Gave him a playful look of outrage as she pointed to her throat. "This bruise is the size of a Wendy's. Would you like to tell me why I was bitten like a Bon Temps waitress?"

It took a lot to keep his smile down. He shrugged instead. "No idea what you're talking about."

"I see," she smiled. "Sooooo, I got this from one of my _other_ boyfriends and just can't remember?"

Normally her teasing about other men had him growling and tearing her clothes off, after which he'd slip inside her and force a retraction from her over and over again. His lack of reaction had her squinting in confusion as he shrugged again noncommittally. "Must be."

She arched her brow, studying him. "Huh," she said at last.

They were silent for awhile, Rigsby massaging her scalp and watching her relax under his touch. It soothed him like few things did. When she melted into him like this, trusting her weight and her unguarded self to him, he could feel himself circling around her completely, wanting to block her off from everyone else. There was pride in it, and protectiveness. There was also a startling sense of greed. These private moments they shared were like gold nuggets to him. Precious and—he was more than certain—enviable. If anyone had any idea how priceless it was to just sit on a sofa with Grace as she purred softly at his ministrations, they'd try to take it. Take _her_. It made his shoulders tense and roll upwards, ready for a fight. Part of him knew he was being paranoid, but that didn't stop him from thinking all kinds of bloody thoughts as he looked down at the soft, sweet woman cuddled into his thighs. She sighed happily again and his mind was lifted to a more peaceful place.

Suddenly she turned towards his stomach, her face burrowing into his groin.

And his planned experiment for the evening just got one hell of a lot harder.

Playful, but not overtly sexual, Grace smiled and nuzzled her nose and lips against his zipper, her knees pulling into a ball at his side. She was curled completely into his sitting form. The innocence behind her carnal position tore him in several dizzying directions at once: adoration, pure love, amazement, and animalistic lust. How was it possible to want to worship and fuck someone at the same time? How did she manage to look so childlike in her trusting sweetness while rubbing her lips across his rapidly tightening pants?

She was every and none of the other women he'd ever been with. She made him hornier than a thousand naked models ever could. She brought out a protectiveness in him, which before now had been reserved for at-risk children. She drove him to biblical covetous desire. Oh fuck, did he covet. And most of all, she just made him so damn _happy_. Happy like he hadn't even understood the fullness of the word before. And just as surely as she drove him completely insane sexually, she also stilled his restless, impatient soul by sharing her inner calm with him. His hands, always twitching for a task, found peace when holding her. His toiling mind settled instantly when he heard her voice. His darting blues held firm on hazel. He exhaled and suddenly he was…whole. A more patient cop. A calmer person. A better man. He understood now that he'd been restless all his life because he'd been waiting for her.

And right now he watched this stunning woman practically give him a blowjob through his pants.

Grace would be the death of him. He knew it. And amazingly, she was totally unaware.

"If you don't tell me why you bit me today, buster," she looked up at him impishly, "there will be no skirt-wearing tomorrow. Spill."

It startled a grin from him. _Dammit_. He was supposed to be playing dumb. He cleared his throat and lifted his eyes, thinking quickly.

Admit to the bite? Or risk her wearing pants?

Eyes upwards, he clucked his tongue in annoyance. He needed her in a skirt tomorrow. He looked back down to her amused expression.

"You were right last night," he answered cryptically.

One of her fingers was weaving around on his shirt before it found its way between two buttons and disappeared under the fabric. "About what?"

Her finger only encountered his t-shirt, but it still got him worked up watching her trespass into his work clothes. He stared as her hand spread wide over his stomach. "There wasn't a scratch on you when we woke up."

He reached out and caressed his bite. "It had to be rectified."

She giggled and snuggled tighter into his crotch. "I thought you were worried about hurting me."

"I told you before, Grace," his voice deepened of its own accord. It pleased him how the gravelly pitch made her shiver. "I'd bite every inch of you until you looked like a leopard, if I could. Remember?" He craned down, bringing his face within three inches of hers. "Remember what you said when I told you that?"

His daunting closeness ensured that her answer came out in a squeak. "I said that I'd let you."

His white teeth flashed with satisfaction. "That's right. You'd let me," he repeated smugly.

The playfulness drained from Grace and suddenly she was pushing herself into his groin in earnest. "Baby," she whimpered softly.

Delight shot through his system as she arched and nestled deeper into him, cooing softly. Mother of mercy, but she was irresistible.

"I love when you call me that." _Dammit._ The stoicism thing wasn't going like he wanted it to. _Be cool_, he admonished himself. _Quit rolling over. _

Luckily, she didn't seem to notice his sentimental expression. Her eyes were closed in pleasure as she sheltered in his lap like a housecat. Her lips brushed over his annoyingly obvious bulge and she gave him a decidedly feline smile. "Anything I can help you with?"

_Yeah. Take my cock out and suck it until I pass out._ His mouth opened and betrayed every single cell in his body. "Nothing at all."

Her eyes widened in surprise. He desperately tried to recall every American president's ugly mug as a sex goddess nudged his erection with a little more force. "You sure about that?"

_Distract her. Distract her! Otherwise I'll come right here in my pants_.

He pushed her legs out, forcing her flat again, before his hand slipped deftly into the front of her pants, into her panties, and right into the gloriously hot inferno, already soaking wet. He rubbed the entire length of her, growling at the fact that she was so wet just from laying on top of him. Grace froze at the sudden invasion and moaned. She turned her face away from him and lay facing up again, her eyes rolling back as he stroked her with rough fingers.

"How about you? Anything I can help _you_ with?" he asked.

She strained upwards into his touch, moaning incoherently. The tightness of her trousers didn't allow for much movement, so he restricted his efforts to massaging her clit with his index and middle finger. She keened again softly, a single word falling from her lips. "Why?"

Not stilling his attentions, he cocked his head at her. "Why what?"

"_Why_?" she moaned loudly. "Why do I let you? I've never let anyone touch me like you do. _Never_." She bucked into his fingers as she spoke. "How do you make me feel this way?" Her dilated eyes searched his pleadingly. "How do you make me need you this much?"

Her desperate questions made him swell impossibly larger, to the point that he feared for the seams of his pants. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember the plan for tonight. _Stay strong!_

But she was moaning so sweetly and rubbing against him so invitingly, he cracked one eye open to watch. Grace was arching off the sofa to push herself harder against his hand. Her arms slithered behind her to grip the armrest next to him. Spread out completely and fully clothed, she made savage love to his fingertips, moaning in pleasure as he slowly brought her to the boiling point.

He was _not_ a disciplined man.

And Grace was that one extra cookie. She was not jogging in the morning because it's raining outside. She was classic episodes of Star Trek when he should be catching up on paperwork. She was 'just this once'.

Just this once, he'd alter his experiment slightly.

He scrapped The Plan- Holding Out on Her.

He'd been so sure he could do it; teasing her just like he was now, and just when he got her all hot and bothered and begging for more, he'd planned to kiss her softly and stop everything. Just stop. No getting her off. No penetration. Just leaving her (and him) high and dry and screaming with unsatisfied pleasure. That had been The Plan.

But he should have known better. Looking at her now, he'd been stupid to think that he could ever deny her anything. She was too powerful. He was too whipped. Her honest need for him was too hard to leave unfulfilled. And she was so beautiful like this, losing herself in his touch, he had to keep doing it, just so he could continue to watch.

So The Plan was amended- Hold Out on Himself.

He brushed her cheeks with his fingers. "Tell me what you want, Grace."

Still moving with his other hand, she answered. "You," she killed him a little. "I want you."

With that, he removed his hand and slid them both underneath her, lifting her easily from his lap as he stood up. "Anything, baby. Anything you want."

He took her to the bedroom, laying her out on the duvet. She watched him loom above her, those dark eyes that sparkled with her belief in ghosts, God and him. He reached down and slowly peeled her pants away as she lifted up and stripped out of her top. Clad in only her bra and panties, Grace was going to make even his amended plans the hardest thing he'd ever attempted. She was just so fucking…

"Beautiful," he rasped softly, his eyes devouring every curve of her toned, slender body.

She smiled indulgently, the smile that told him that she didn't really agree. "And lonely," she pouted up at him, pulling her legs primly to one side. "Join me, pretty boy?"

He snorted and yanked at his clothes. "Pretty? Who you callin' pretty, Pretty?"

She grinned as he shed his shirts and pants, standing in just his boxers and looking very pretty indeed. "You. Prettiest boy I've ever seen."

He dove at her. Grace shrieked and brought her knees up, instinctively warding off his attack. He roared playfully as she blocked his chest with her shins, halting his advance. He slid his hands between them and roughly pried her knees apart, his body falling instantly into its rightful place between them. He pinned her down as she bubbled with laughter, trapping her between his locked arms, his eyes blazing down at her. "Still lonely?" he asked smilingly.

She giggled, reaching behind her and releasing her bra before tossing it aside. "You're still pretty, though."

"Knock if off," he warned with a growl. "Men aren't pretty."

Grace clucked her tongue in disagreement as she wrapped her pliant legs around his waist. "Would you prefer it if I called you stunning? Lovely? Exquisite?"

Rigsby uttered a cross between a laugh at her words and a groan as she caged him. The idea that she thought he was any of those things made him dizzy, so rather than combat her vocally, he simply lowered his head and planted his lips directly over his bite.

She gasped sharply and moaned.

Rigsby smirked against her skin. His little leopard had just one spot. That would change tonight. _Then we'll see how lovely she thinks I am._ She whimpered softly beneath him, expecting another bite and enduring a little hell as she waited for his teeth to sink in. He knew this. He could feel her anticipation as she unconsciously strained against his mouth.

He gave his mark a soft, chaste kiss. "Pretty kitty," he whispered to her.

Suddenly his head dipped and before Grace could react, he'd latched onto her plump outer breast and bit down softly. Grace went rigid and cried out as her sensitive flesh was pulled in and marked with the same soft ferociousness as her throat had been. She arched into him wildly, fearing and asking for his attack. The throat was one thing, but a woman's breasts were so delicate, she fought her instincts to pull away from his nip. Instead she pushed into it. _Oh God, this is amazing_. Intense, but not painful. Despite his sudden apparent need to bruise her in multiple places, he was exceptionally careful, using suction more than teeth on her tender flesh. She was trembling by the time he pulled back to admire his handiwork.

"There," he grunted with satisfaction. The mark, every bit as big as his first, would darken in no time. He'd chosen a more private place for it on purpose. From now on, all of his marks would brand in her in places only they could see. The solitary bite on her neck was enough of a public display. It was juvenile, he knew, but he wanted that bite to signal to everyone who saw it. Private Property. Keep Out.

"Oh, my God," she moaned hotly. Her forearms crossed weakly over her breasts, as if to protect them. "What are you doing to me?"

He hooked his thumbs into her panties, sliding them down her smooth legs, before divesting himself of his boxers. When he covered her again, he drew a deep breath, swearing an oath to himself that the suicidal plan was going forward. He blocked as much of her beautiful body, soul-stirring eyes and sweet voice as was humanly possible.

"You asked for me," he answered with finality.

He stroked two tiny inches into her. She inhaled sharply, expecting more of an invasion at his sudden thrust. If only she knew the torture that was to come, she would have begged for a quick, hard fuck right from the beginning.

"Mmmmmmm," she moaned softly, thinking this was a sweet preamble. "More. I can take more. I'm so wet for you, baby. I promise, you won't hurt me." She smiled up at him encouragingly. "You never do."

Fucking. Agony.

"No," he answered decisively. His plunges were tight and controlled as he kept himself shallow. He could already feel the natural suction of her tight body trying to pull him deeper. Oh, Jesus Christ. Rigsby, never one to refuse an invitation, had always taken full advantage of that welcome. And now his body was screaming at him not to be rude. He should go in. All the way in. Embrace her loving body and show her what a pleasurable guest he could be.

But he didn't. Two inches only.

His poor little subject looked up with uncomprehending eyes. She rubbed his arms up and down. "I'm not sore," she soothed, thinking he was worried about their rough encounter the night before. "I'm okay. Really."

Oh God, she was cracking him in half.

"I know you are, sweetheart," he offered softly, lifting a hand to trace her face. "But this is as far as I'm going."

Her lips parted and he saw an argument coming, so he slipped his hand from her cheek to down between her wonderfully parted folds. Impossibly soft flesh and maddeningly slippery wetness pillowed his fingers as he went back to teasing her tiny little bud. The effect was immediate. She gasped and pushed into him, her narrow channel clasping more desperately for the rest of him.

Rigsby groaned as his cock fought furiously against his restraint. It didn't want to be just a dildo, only here to perform a service. It wanted to _fuck_. It was granite hard for the woman under him, getting harder with each second of denial.

But no. Only her.

He clenched his eyes shut and continued his short thrusts. Thank God that massaging her had distracted her enough to let him concentrate. If she'd well and truly begged for him, his plan would suffer further amendments. As it was, she was already coming gently against his barely-there lovemaking.

She didn't scream like she usually did. Instead, she gasped softly, tensing as her superficial release washed over her. She whimpered as it took its course. It made her happy, but it merely whetted her appetite. He continued to stroke her, carefully bringing her down from her mild height.

Despite her sated state, she continued to cage him, pulling at him with her thighs and whining softly as he slowed to a stop.

"Please," she begged. "I want more. I want you harder. I want you to come with me." She was looking at him with big, desperate eyes. He could only gaze back and ask the Almighty where he got his strength to refuse.

He gave her a pained smile. It was all he could spare as he fought against his body's raging need to comply with her wishes. "You can have as many of those as you want," he gritted out quietly. "But you can't have it harder. And," he gave her a pointed look, "I'm not coming inside you."

Her eyes sparked with mischief at his last sentence and he was quick to rephrase. "I'm not coming at all, baby. Just you."

"But," she nudged at his painful erection, already wanting him again, "I want you." She didn't understand his sudden bizarre take on abstinence. "You want me, too. So why won't you come with me?"

As agonizing as it was, he began to rock inside her again slowly. Two inches only, and his fingers continued to play her like a stringed instrument. Her eyes rolled back in euphoria as he started all over. Her questions lost their urgency. Her second release was already on the horizon.

For the rest of the night, Rigsby suffered what was surely its own special level of hell. He kissed every inch of his angel. He made love to her with strokes as soft as butterfly wings. He pushed her over the edge more times than she could remember. He took her to the same level of satisfaction as he had when he'd fucked her with no mercy the night before.

But he never took her fully. And he didn't come once.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

_Mean mean mean mean mean!_

The word pounded through Grace's mind with the same relentless urgency as the excruciating throb radiating from between her thighs. She tried to focus on work to relieve the first. She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair to relieve the second. As she ran down the latest lead in their double homicide, she strove to dedicate her entire train of thought finding three unlisted addresses for a series of front companies used to embezzle millions of—

_Mean. Damn, he's so mean. Why wouldn't he give himself to me? Why wouldn't he let me make love to him the way he made love to me? Why would he bite like a crazed animal, then barely touch me? Not that it wasn't good. Hell, it was wonderful. But half of my pleasure comes from his pleasure. He knows that! I don't want to just get off! I want him unraveling with me! I want him screaming and sweating just like I am! Why would he—Oh Jesus. Grace, work!_

She shook herself and redoubled her efforts. The search engines whirred under her knowing keystrokes, but her thoughts refused to leave her in peace.

And it wasn't just her mind that was annoyed at his restraint. Her body—her core—was painfully aware that her mate was sitting in the same room, and that he was suffering from extreme sexual deprivation. He hadn't said a word last night or this morning as they drove into work, but she couldn't tell from his tight expression during, after and when they woke up that he was desperate for release. Each time she reached for him, he deflected her hands by making her come apart under his.

She'd come apart many times for him. But not once did he for her.

There wasn't a cell in her body that was okay with that, apparently, because they were gearing themselves up for hours of furniture-smashing sex. Her skin was hot. Her breathing was labored. The computer screen was too bright, which told her that her pupils were dilated. Her breasts, now baring proof of his ownership, were tight and aching. Her tongue was impatient for his taste. All of his tastes. Her bare calves slid against each other, creating a sensual friction that she couldn't stop herself from indulging. And the apex of her thighs beneath her professional skirt was a seething expanse of unrequited, burning desire.

She was _dying_ to fuck him. _Really_ fuck him. Not that sweet little ballet recital session last night, she wanted a thrash metal mosh pit of fucking him.

And it was driving her absolutely crazy. She couldn't think. She couldn't _stop _thinking. Her engine was all revved up and here she was without a driver. Her greed wanted a hard, pounding orgasm. Her generosity wanted to give one back. God, this was a thousand times worse than when she was single and had only her vibrator to ease her tension. After all, her vibrator didn't ram deep, scream her name and make her heart leap with excitement. Nor did it wrap itself around her afterwards and make her feel like a rare jewel.

But that's how he'd behaved. Like her vibrator.

She Grace bit her lips and squirmed in her seat again. She had no idea why he'd decided to torture her this way, but it was ending today. Wear a skirt, indeed. The moment the opportunity presented itself, she was going to rip him out of his pants and _make_ him fuck her. And once he did, she'd use every art she possessed to make sure he lost his mind in her arms. Just like she always lost hers in his.

Lunch.

Yes, definitely. She'd corner him at lunch. She'd take them somewhere, anywhere, and take care of this immediately. She had to. In order to focus on her job for the rest of the day, she'd have to indulge in some very unprofessional activities. It was the only way. And she was sure, on some level and if explained in delicate terms, that management would agree.

_Absolutely_, they'd say. _Get it out of your system. Do the deed, clear your head, get back in the game. _

_Yes_, she thought decidedly as she took a cleansing breath and checked the clock. Fifteen minutes to go before lunch.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Lunchtime_, he thought excitedly. _Finally._

Oh God, today had been torture. She'd been a good girl and had worn a skirt like he'd asked. Watching her shapely legs as she walked back and forth to her desk was driving him insane with unsatisfied hunger. His pants were threatening to rip open again, only this time he wasn't in the privacy of their apartments. Somehow, that forbidden edge to their game made his little problem even worse. The harder he tried to quell the tent in his pants, the more obvious it became. The more he tried to tell it 'later', the more it demanded 'now'.

Probably because his body knew he was lying to it.

He had a plan for lunch, but once again it wasn't going to involve him getting any relief. He'd formulated this idea yesterday just before he'd bitten her. At the time, he hadn't been sure, and last night made him wonder if he was capable at all.

Then he'd watched Grace at her desk all day.

And now he was positive. What had been a weak-ass break with his original plan of No Nookie had yielded some interesting results. He hadn't been strong enough to refuse her, and yet it was clear that she was distracted. He was intrigued as he watched her getting steadily worked up in her seat. When she started sliding her legs together in slow, seductive strokes, she pinned him with those smoky eyes and he'd known. She was going crazy.

He wasn't sure why. She been a boneless tangle of limbs by the time he'd finished with her last night, but you'd never know it looking at her now. Her body language was communicating to the whole office that she was horny as hell and angry that it wasn't being serviced right there and then. He'd never seen her so out of control in the workplace. She was always so cool. Collected. Professional and personal stayed separate in front of the others. Always.

So when her eyes sought his the moment that clock hit noon, he knew his plan would work beautifully. _Keep her guessing and drive her crazy_. It was only fair. She'd already bamboozled him so many times.

Now it was his turn.

Wordlessly, he stood and grabbed his coat as if heading out for lunch. Grace grabbed her purse and followed. They entered the elevator together without a glance. Rigsby pressed the button for the basement. Grace swallowed and said nothing. She was too far gone. She'd assumed they'd go out to a hotel nearby, but hey, if he wanted to take this somewhere else, that was fine by her.

She resisted the urge to touch him as they went down. There were security cameras. She knew an innocent touch to his hand wouldn't be caught by the guards, but she also knew that she was too desperate to merely touch his hand and leave it at that. If she touched him now, she'd attack. Best to wait.

The doors opened. Storage level. He stepped out and she followed right behind. Staring straight ahead, he headed towards the back of the cavernous room and suddenly Grace realized where they were headed.

A series of small research rooms had been set up so that agents could read their files in peace, away from the bustling of the bullpen. There were four in all, ten by ten feet, with a desk and a chair. And a lock on the door.

They were all empty.

Rigsby chose the one on the far left. They walked inside, Rigsby locking the door behind them.

And they pounced.

Grace got to him first. She threw herself against him, nearly knocking him over as her raging hormones made her careless. She clasped his cheeks in her palms and kissed him hard, hard enough to make him grunt with surprise. She knew it drove him crazy when she was the aggressor. She hoped like hell it got him out of his pants that much faster. She opened her mouth, her tongue sliding into his and exploring each delicious recess.

Rigsby was blindsided. Her hands were clawing at his clothes. _Clawing_. Without their usual consideration for buttons or seams. She was literally going to tear him out of his suit. Fuck work. And her _mouth_! Christ, her sweet, soft, gentle mouth was attacking him. Raping him. Pushing into him regardless of his wishes and taking what it wanted. And damn, it was hot. He moaned against her tongue, stumbling backwards and landing in a sitting position on the table's edge, Grace following him between his legs.

Rigsby nearly forgot himself. Her busy little hands had found bare skin and had opened zippers. She was reaching in, stroking, petting…fisting.

_Oh, fuck yes!_ Christ, her warm little fingers clenched around his raging hard-on and pumped him with tight, slow strokes. _Yesyesyesyesyes!_

"No!" he roared louder than he should have as he grabbed her errant hand and yanked it away from his cock. If she touched him now it was game over. His erection had the pressure sensitivity of a landmine at this stage. Any little redheaded girl pressing into it would set it off and cause a very messy explosion.

Landmines were dangerous. He clucked his tongue at her. "Bad girl," he rasped.

He whirled around, standing and switching their positions so that she was sitting on the table and he stood in the shallows between her knees. Her very tight skirt didn't grant him further entry.

He cupped her face and kissed her with as much savagery as she'd kissed him. As his tongue invaded her mouth and claimed it as his own, he made it clear who was still in charge here. She felt his domineering force and whimpered with sexy disapproval into his mouth.

Her attack had failed. She was being repelled. She wasn't going to astound him out of his clothes and into her body before he was aware of what was happening. He'd literally taken the high ground and was kissing her from above, her sitting position making her even shorter than normal. She squirmed uncomfortably, the knowledge that she wasn't going to startle him into fucking her making her core flood with excess moisture. She was ridiculously wet. She had been all morning. Now she was actually worried about soaking straight through her skirt. The solution was to lose the skirt and fuck on the table until they cracked it in half.

She wailed in breathy frustration against his lips. Her hands were already peeling her skirt up to her waist and away from her bare legs, enticing him closer. Her lonely hips rolled and rotated in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure that this sexy, mean-spirited bastard was creating and _not _attending to.

She begged. "Fuck me," she pleaded into their kiss. "God, please fuck me. I need you so bad, baby. _Please_."

Her sweet boyfriend would always gasp and comply before she'd even finished her sentence. This mean man merely chuckled. He looked down at her, dragging his eyes over her lifted skirt and heaving chest before settling on her eyes.

"Oh, baby. You're _so_ not getting fucked."

She threw her head back and squealed in fury, her hands sliding back to brace her as she leaned back and offered herself to him shamelessly.

"_Pleeeeeeeeaaaaaase_," she drew out desperately. How the hell was this not working? What did she have to do to make her boyfriend make love to her? Why was he punishing her like this? She opened her legs wider, her skirt sliding up the final three inches to settle at her waist.

"Sorry, Grace," he whispered darkly, watching her writhe like a bitch in heat for him. "You're here to make me lunch."

Her dilated eyes fought to keep focus on him as she squinted with incomprehension. _What?_

"What?"

He leaned over her, grinding between her legs and planting his hands on either side of her hips, swooping within an inch of her lips. "You're going to sit on this table, spread your legs, and let me eat you up for the next hour."

"Oh my God," she moaned hotly, her eyes rolling up. He couldn't be serious. Jesus, was he serious?

But he wasn't finished. Skimming her lips without kissing them, his lips moved to her ear. "I'm starving, baby. You know how much I eat. So you're going to be a good girl and come for me over and over, just to make sure I get enough. Aren't you?"

Grace lost her words. She lost her mind. A whimper escaped her.

He smiled against her cheek before he continued to purr. "I've been thinking about your taste all day, Grace. You taste like sweet tarts. You taste like lemon drops." He paused and chuckled as she shuddered and moaned, rubbing herself weakly against him. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Take off your panties and gimme some candy."

Her panties hit the floor before he'd finished.

He growled with pleasure and skimmed down her body. Grabbing the chair, he sat deep between her thighs, settling comfortably as he prepared to tongue fuck Grace for sixty whole minutes.

He'd always imagined he could eat her for hours on end. One hour was a good goal for his first training session.

He gazed lecherously at what she was offering him with such eagerness. Her bare folds were glistening with a startling amount of wetness. She had indeed worked herself into a serious state. As she fell back against the table, elbows bracing her weight so that she could watch, he saw the shivers of intense sexual need in her arms and legs.

He nuzzled her inner thigh, slowly kissing his way up to where her leg met her hip, one tantalizing inch away from her center. Her impossibly soft skin made him choke on a groan. He placed the softest kiss there, ignoring the delectable smell of her dripping sex as he did. God, she smelled delicious. So womanly and clean. And horny. Christ alive, nothing made him hotter than the scent of Grace when she wanted him. Her pheromones intoxicated him. Just another example of how she drove him so wild that sex at the office even entered his head. Just another rule that no longer seemed to apply. He _had _to have her. He had to show her how reckless she'd made him.

Nestled against her flawless, warm skin, he gave her a reminder of how completely she'd turned him.

"Pretty kitty," he murmured.

He bit down.

Grace went rigid and keened loudly before smothering the sound, jerking harshly against his mouth. Two inches of her upper, inner thigh was pulled and nipped and sucked with his signature attack, creating a purple oval that she'd see for many days after. The overwhelming pleasure that came from a simple bite nearly had her coming after only a few seconds. His tongue swirled over the flesh trapped between his teeth. Her legs spasmed on either side of him, making him groan with appreciation.

After half a minute, he pulled away gently and pressed a kiss into her new spot. His eyes lifted to hers and his wicked smile returned.

"Show me your tits."

Grace mewled incoherently at his vulgar demand. With trembling fingers, she slowly undid the buttons holding her blouse together. She parted the material, her sinfully itty, bitty black bra winked at him, her cleavage spilling over the lace material. He grunted deeply. "Open."

Her eyes were liquid desire as she slowly undid the front clasp, the material parting, but not falling away, from the stunning swells. Grunting again, he reached up and flicked the offending cups aside, her full breasts and achingly tight nipples greeting him underneath.

Fucking exquisite.

Satisfied with her obedience, he nodded and lowered his lips, blowing softly on the pool of wetness waiting for him. She spasmed again, her back arching as she moaned his name softly.

His eyes met hers again. "Now. You lie back and focus on making me all the honey I want. This is acceptable," he ran his fingers lightly over her core and she jolted. He smiled again. "For now."

He lowered his head again and ran his tongue up her entire length.

Grace gasped and fell backwards. He was really going to do it. He was going to eat her for lunch for an entire hour. No sex. No pounding, satisfying orgasm. Just his tongue torturing her as her body fed him the honey he was so greedily lapping up. The wondrous agony, the anticipation, the bite, the licks.

She came against his mouth immediately. Her back went rigid as she gasped and jolted hard against their homemade electricity. Her core clenched angrily. It was empty and furious. Knowing he was close, it produced even more wetness. It surged forward as her muscles clasped desperately for his presence, pouring onto his tongue and making him growl happily.

"That's my baby," he rumbled between licks. "Get wet for me. Keep coming for me." He glanced up quickly, groaning at her straining bare breasts and partially-nude, shivering body. He reached up and rubbed one of her nipples gently.

He ignored his own painful erection as she pushed into his hands and mouth. Instead he licked his lips and gave her a wolfish grin. "I'm nowhere near full."

He bent down and proceeded to lick her clean again.

Grace was in agony. She wanted to scream her head off. His fingers on her breasts and his lips on her sex completed yet another circuit, looping the electrical current through her at a terrifying voltage. She flailed underneath him and sobbed behind her hand. Some tiny part of her brain remembered they were at work.

She must bear her electrocution quietly.

She could already feel the next orgasm approaching, her frantic body needing as many as possible in lieu of his thick cock's presence. Oh God, if only she could touch him, taste him, feel him so deep that her infuriating itch was scratched good and proper.

Somewhere, she found her voice. "Wayne, please," she begged again. "Let me have you. Let me…oh, God…please let me…let me touch you…"

He pulled up an inch to answer in a low pitch. "Every time I turn around, my dick is in your mouth." He dragged his scratchy cheek against her creamy thigh. "Now you're going to give me what's mine."

He sucked her clit into his mouth and drove her over the precipice again. More wetness flooded him. More smug pleasure etched his features as he feasted.

In the end, she proved a very good girl. After fifty-two more minutes of trembling, sweating ecstasy, she'd come for him five times.

He went back to work dying for a fuck, but at least one hunger had been satisfied.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen **

For the rest of the workday, Grace had all of the spry awareness of a de-boned chicken. She sat at her desk in a blurred daze. Her spoke only when spoken to, and even then it was confused and monosyllabic. She slouched horribly, her tormented body too exhausted to sit upright. Her five orgasms had made her terribly sleepy. Her denied sexual desires made her noticeably pissy.

Wayne had worked some magical curse that left her sated and nowhere near satisfied. Five orgasms and still dying for sex? How had he conjured such a ridiculous feeling inside her? In the basement, after he teased her final climax from her, he'd stood up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and leaned down to kiss her.

"Yummy," he'd murmured against her lips.

He'd turned and left her, closing the door behind him and leaving her a naked, glistening, moaning, trembling mess atop a research table. Her clit and outer folds were beyond overstimulated. Just when she'd thought she couldn't come for him anymore, he'd whispered some filthy adoration or slip a single finger into the shallow depths of her pussy and she unspooled yet again.

But no sex. She hadn't gotten what she wanted. He was still playing this cruel and unfair prank on her where she was mauled by his deliciously fuckable body, but not actually fucked. She'd tried. Oh God, how she had tried. But she'd been overpowered. Overrun. Conquered. She couldn't imagine what crime against humanity she'd committed to incur such mouth-watering punishment.

Thanks to her stupor, time moved rather quickly. By the time it was okay to go home for the day, she'd managed a half-baked plan. If she couldn't overpower him, she'd have to outmaneuver him. She didn't know how, but dammit, the situation had gone Code Red. If he wasn't going to give her what she needed, she'd have to figure out a way to take it. Fuck his little game. He'd had his fun, now he needed to take care of business before hers became a medical problem. Surely he wouldn't want explain to the ER doctors that she was unconscious in the waiting room because he'd refused to resusitate her by screwing her senseless.

She was pretty sure that was an arrestable offense. Reckless endangerment, or something.

So she'd simply take matters into her own hands. Tonight. Now. She got her things and headed for the elevator. He would follow shortly. He'd damn well better.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Later that night, Rigsby was surprised. As they snuggled deep into her overstuffed sofa, watching _The Great Escape_ and melting into each other's warmth, Grace continued to make absolutely no mention of that afternoon. She'd made chicken and cous cous for dinner, all ready to eat by the time he'd walked through the door. She'd smiled at him peacefully, looking so content and calm that he assumed that he'd thoroughly worn her out at lunch.

He was pleased and disappointed at that. It always made his heart swell knowing that he did it for her, but at the same time, his experiment would stall if she had no immediate desire for him. But as she walked up to him as he tossed his keys on the table, her arms went around him and she purred softly as she nuzzled him in the chest.

"Hey, you," she murmured happily.

He hugged her back and buried his face in her sweet-smelling hair. "Hey back."

They stood in the entryway for several minutes, not talking, just holding each other and sighing softly. Rigsby was infused with sublime happiness. He could easily come home every day for the next fifty years to this kind of welcome. A warm house, the smell of dinner, and a soft hug from the woman he loved. No dream had ever felt so alluring and attainable at the same time. Fighting crime and making love with Grace for the rest of his life. Never had the two major drives in his life, catching bad guys and wanting love, been fulfilled simultaneously. Once again he was filled with the most overwhelming sense of peace.

Standing still with her. Standing quietly. He rubbed his cheek into her red locks and a growl escaped him. The sound he always made when he was happy. Grace smiled against his shirt. Her big, scary teddy bear.

"You hungry?" she asked, finally looking up at him.

He smiled indulgently. "Are you new here?"

She grinned sheepishly. "You're right. Stupid question. C'mon, grub's all ready." She didn't mention that he'd had a light lunch. She didn't mention lunch at all.

Now, sitting on the sofa and scoffing as Steve McQueen led the Nazis on a scenic goose chase, Rigsby wondered idly just how long they were going skirt the topic. He decided to find out and cleared his throat softly. Like Steve, he chose the scenic route.

"It's getting late," he said, kissing her temple.

"Hmmmm," she replied noncommittally.

"Feeling tired?"

She blinked as Steve crested a hill on his motorcycle. "A bit."

Getting a little lost in her scent, he nuzzled gently along her hairline. "Wanna go to bed?"

A smile cracked and disappeared. He never saw it. " 'spose so. Guess McQueen will have to ride another day," she yawned as she flipped off the tv, stretching out, relaxed as could be.

He carried her to bed, a common occurrence that Grace initially had to get used to when they first got together. No boyfriend before had ever carried her anywhere, never mind all the time and to her bedroom. She snuggled into his shoulder, exhaling heavily. _Sooooo sleepy_, her supple limbs told him.

He eased her into bed. "You want my t-shirt?"

She often wore his shirts to bed. Yawning again and fluttering her eyes, she shook her head. "I'm too warm. I'll just sleep in my underwear." Sounding as innocent as can be and not watching his reaction to her words, she started tugging artlessly at her clothes, shedding her skirt, blouse and bra and slipping between the sheet while he watched. She curled on her side and sighed heavily.

"You coming?" she murmured.

He stood frozen, watching her naked body slide into their bed.

She wasn't looking at him. _Thank Christ_, he thought to himself. He'd done pretty well the whole evening. For a man on the sexual brink ready to explode any second, he'd been extremely proud of himself. He'd held Grace all night. He cuddled with her for hours. He kissed and rubbed and hugged her and not once did his erection make an appearance. Fuck knows why. Two days of no sex with Grace was bad enough, but two days of no sex with Grace while pleasuring her had pushed him into a very unstable frame of mind. He'd hid it from her well. As far as she'd seen, he was perfectly happy with this new arrangement. But underneath he was a roiling mess, so pent up with raging sexual desire that he wasn't sure he'd make it another day.

His plan didn't have a set schedule. It's not like there were any sophisticated phases involved here. He'd just wanted to see what would happen if he held out on her. Nothing more. And she'd responded beautifully. She'd attacked him like the leopard he was turning her into. Spotted and wild. But now she was acting tame as a lamb.

A naked, super hot lamb.

_Christ._

"Yeah," he answered finally, and began shrugging out of his clothes. Her nude indifference was having an effect on his boxers. They appeared to be shrinking, growing tighter and tighter as he watched her curled form.

_I guess I really wore her out. Finally. Maybe now it's time to retire the experiment. Let her go back to controlling wherever she wanted to take our sexual relationship. Hey, it was fun. I enjoyed having control for awhile. Nice to know that she isn't as cool and controlled as she appears._ He smirked. _Good to know I can get to her_.

But now she was truly tired. He mentally rebuked his straining cock as he kicked off his underwear and settled between the sheets next to her. He had really worked her hard that afternoon, and unlike her blowjob on their stakeout, she hadn't been able to take a nap like he had. He leaned over her shoulder and kissed her cheek chastely.

"Night, baby. Love you."

She hummed softly and murmured. "G'night. Love you more."

He rolled on his back, sighing happily and quickly drifting off to sleep.

What came in the next few hours made him disown any thoughts he might have had towards ending his little research project.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grace waited for a long time. She had to be sure. As she lay curled on her side, feigning sleep, she listened to his breathing for almost ninety minutes. It was slow and deep. Its steadiness told her that he was out like a light, in deep, deep sleep. Just like she'd hoped.

She'd slept on her side for a reason. She absolutely could not risk falling asleep in his arms, as was their normal nightly ritual. She had to keep herself free from his limbs, which always wrapped like ivy around her. She'd hoped her little performance and fooled him. She wanted him thinking her sated, exhausted body was too tired to realize that it wasn't in his embrace. She was just so sleepy. She smiled smugly. _Ha!_ Sleepy like a caffine-addled sexaholic who needed a fix of her favorite drug so badly that she couldn't even blink. But it looked like he bought the all-tuckered-out act. He'd let her sleep next to him without cuddling up to her.

His internal heat and motion sensors wouldn't go off now.

As slowly and quietly as she could, she slipped out of bed, walking carefully to her chest of drawers on the other side of the room. Lifting her hand slowly in the darkness, she traced her fingers along the surface until they came into contact with a small leather case.

Bingo.

Smothering the case in her hands, she pulled the Velcro open one annoyingly loud rip at a time. In the thick silence of the room, it sounded deafening. After a few seconds, it was open and the familiar clink of metal met her touch.

She grinned like a deprived heroine addict who just found a brick of brown. _So close now. _

She pulled out her cuffs and gently set the case down. She crept back to her bed, sizing up her lover's sleeping position to best gauge how to do this.

This had been the only solution she could think of on the drive home. She couldn't overpower him physically. That much was certain. So then how? Everything she needed from him right now was physical. If he wasn't game, then she was outta luck. So she began to work through the possibilities. She'd thought hard, making a list as she always did with problems.

1. I can't subdue him.

2. He stops me from touching him.

3. I need sex.

4. He wants sex.

5. His body will respond sexually, even if he doesn't want it to.

It led to the obvious conclusion. She didn't have to subdue him. She only had to restrain him. With his hands secured, he'd be helpless against what she planned to do to make him hard. Once that happened, she'd ride him into oblivion and back. His objections be damned. Yeah, that sounded a lot like rape, but hey. Sue her. If he hadn't been such a dirty tease in the first place, she would never have been pushed into this kind of desperation. He had it coming. Plain and simple.

She slipped into bed again and snuggled into his arms, sighing softly as if she'd turned into him naturally. He grunted in his sleep, reaching for her with both hands. She caught them deftly, holding them very gently until she felt him relax in her hands and settle back again.

_Slow. Eeeeeasy._

She lifted them up towards the bars of her headboard. _Slooooowly_, she thought as she held her breath and inched them higher and higher.

Once she got them there, she'd have to move fast. The click of the cuffs on his wrists would no doubt awaken him, and she had to do it twice while snaking the chain through the bars, so after these last three inches—

He struck like lightning.

She only saw a blur before her hands were grabbed, her body was flipped to her back, and her wrists were restrained, cuffed and trapped between two bars.

She shrieked in fury as Wayne, wide-awake and grinning, loomed over her.

"Nooooooo!" She yanked her hands uselessly against the cuffs. "_Nonononono_!"

His laugh boomed over her shrieking voice. "Really? You thought dinner and a movie would fool me, sweetheart?"

"Goddamn you," she cried in frustration, cursing and spitting like a trapped tomcat. She arched frantically underneath him, pulling with no effect against the hold of her headboard while pushing into him, skin to skin, throbbing so hotly that she thought she was going to explode.

Her bare breasts were aching so badly that even the lightest contact against his chest sent bolts of pleasure straight to her core. In her desperation, she tried wrapping her legs around his, but he only bracketed his thighs across hers. Keeping her in place. She squirmed hopelessly under his impossible weight and whimpered softly.

"Wayne, please. I want to make love with you. It's been two days and I need you. All of you. Please, baby. _Pleasepleasepleaseplease_," she cooed mindlessly, bowing up as much as her trapped arms and legs would allow. The throb was just insufferable. She couldn't take it anymore. If he refused her now, she couldn't be held responsible for her actions.

She bucked up again and gasped sharply. His naked erection was so big and hard that it caught in between their bodies as she moved, making him moan as she rotated against him.

"See?" she whispered. "You need it too. You haven't come for me in two whole days, baby. Let me take care of you. I'll make you feel so good, you'll never want me to stop."

Rigsby hissed and shoved her harder into the mattress, stilling her movements somewhat. "No," he hissed raggedly, his face a tight mask of concentration.

Her entire body shuddered with rage at being refused. "_Why_?" she keened breathlessly, still squirming despite his tight grip.

A smile chipped at the corners of his tight lips. "Because you tried to take it. Didn't your mama teach you to always ask first?"

She groaned at his ridiculous answer, yanking again at her own cuffs.

He levered up so that he could bring both hands to her breasts, massaging them softly. She gasped with joy and moaned for him, pushing her aching body into his palms.

"Beautiful Grace," he crooned as he worked her. "If only you'd asked. I might have given you everything you wanted."

Still working her gently, he leaned down until his lips pressed softly just up and left of her bellybutton.

"Such a pretty kitty," he praised roughly.

He bit down.

Grace, scraped raw with need, screamed like a banshee as one of her few ticklish spots was attacked and nibbled. She couldn't protect it. Her hands were held tightly in her cuffs. She seethed with unbearable pleasure as her breasts found relief while her tummy was tortured. She was practically crying by the time he pulled back.

Another red oval soon to turn purple. His little leopard now had her fourth spot.

"If only you'd asked," he repeated as he continued to caress her. "But now you've gotten me all worked up. If you'd asked me, I would have relieved it with you." He sighed sadly and pulled up until he was standing on his knees above her, her thighs still trapped between his legs. Grace hadn't known that he'd gotten into bed naked, but the fact was now proudly on display, his smooth, pulsing shaft standing at attention above her.

She shuddered and bucked again at the sight, her eyes rolling back. "Oh, my God," she groaned softly.

Rigsby gazed down her prone body, naked except for a sexy pair of black bikini underwear. It would be so easy to just…

"No," he hissed out loud. "Bad, bad girl," he berated her from on high. His eyes caught hers and she knew that she was in serious trouble. Slowly, so very slowly, he pulled her panties aside and cupped her tightly.

"Yes!" she cried as she felt his fingers working themselves between her closed legs, into her heat and her copious wetness. "Yes, baby. God, please more."

He stroked her softly until his hand was completely covered in her slippery desire. Then, to her horror, he took his hand away and brought it to his cock.

"Wha…what are you doing?" she was terrified that she already knew.

He tightened his thighs around hers. She moaned as he wrapped his hand around his gorgeously thick cock and coated himself with her.

He grinned his wicked grin. "I'm gonna jerk off onto your stomach while you watch."

"Nooooo," her wail was so heartbroken as she fell back limp onto the bed that Wayne almost felt sorry for her. He tightened his slick grip on himself and moaned over her cry. He began to pump slowly, watching her face as it crumpled with disappointment and impotent desire.

His own hand was nothing next to how she felt, especially now that she was so hungry for him, but the power of the situation made him growl with smug authority. She was trapped and helpless and he was torturing his prey. The sadist in him was ecstatic. Working himself with hard strokes, he taunted her.

"It's too bad, baby. My hand doesn't feel nearly as good as you. Christ, you're the sweetest, tightest little thing I've ever known."

Her eyes were slitted against her fury. She bucked up against his inner thighs and swore loudly. Her cuffs clicked loudly against the metal posts holding her arms above her head.

A slave.

His cock twitched in his hand and he sped up, groaning at the sight of her fired up, horny and helpless against him. Her smooth belly contracted as her muscles worked in a futile effort to wrangle him inside of her. His head tipped back and he howled.

"Fuck, I need you!" he roared at the ceiling. "You're so fucking hot that you burn me alive. Your pussy loves me, doesn't it, Grace? It pulls me in and hugs me so hard that I know I've come home. Say it, baby. Tell me I'm home."

Her fury was really just denied lust. Red, molten lust. Watching her beautiful boyfriend as he gave himself a handjob and loudly exalted her body would have knocked her senseless if she hadn't been so horny. Maybe it did anyway. She answered him.

"Yes, baby," she whispered up to him, lifting her head above her arms, trying fruitlessly to get closer. "You're home. My body loves you, even when I want to kill you." Her voice raised sharply at the end. The sight of his juicy dick glistening her wetness was going to end her.

"Get inside me, Wayne. Now. I _mean _it."

He gasped. Her low, dangerous command making him seize up, his eyes widening with shock and lust. "Sorry, baby," was all she got before he arched violently towards her, his come shooting in a boiling hot geyser across her stomach and breasts. So, so much of it. The spray of white hit her perfect tits and they both screamed, Wayne with agonizing release and Grace with livid frustration. He pumped his hand several more times, his tip still oozing profusely.

His head fell forward, his body shivering with release. When his hand dropped away, he finally pulled up a bit to look at her. "Look at you," he rasped in awe.

Still spread out for him like stunning sacrifice, Grace looked almost ethereal in beauty and loving fury. He grunted with a haughty smirk, dripping with possession. His finger dipped into the jizz on her breasts, making little patterns over the love bite he put there the night before. "Look at you," he repeated softly, "cuffed and bitten and covered in my juice."

He knew it wasn't gentlemanly, but he couldn't help it. The sight of her so thoroughly captured and taken by him was just primal. He was wilted down to his most primitive instincts. Take what's his. Mark what's his. Protect, impregnate and love what's his. She was all of these things. He purred at the knowledge.

He lifted off her and reached for the bedside table, pulling three tissues from the box and gently cleaning her with them. She whimpered the whole time, angry and needy and wanting him so very badly.

"You cheated me," she pouted sadly. That's how she felt. Cheated. He'd gone and had sex without her. She was discovering all sorts of new emotions because of it. None of them felt particularly good.

He smiled softly, dabbing the moisture from her skin. "You were going to cuff me to your bed and ravish me, Grace. You really gonna take the injured party line, here?"

He slipped into bed beside her and pulled the sheets over them. She huffed at his answer. "Ravish? Please. You're just holding out on me to be mean. I was only doing what I had to to make us both happy." The petulance in her tone made him chuckle softly.

"So you're the only one who gets to experiment with our sex life?" He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back against his chest, spooning seamlessly against her as they lay on their sides. Her arms, only slightly above her head now, slid into Ls against each other in front of her face. Not uncomfortable, but definitely irritating.

She yanked on her cuffs pointedly. "Ahem. Key?"

He astonished her by leaning into her ear and whispering oh-so-quietly.

"No."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Sun City Courier, Delivery Services desk, this is Becky. How can I help you?"

Grace leaned forward into her desk, speaking quietly into her phone. "Hi, Becky. I need to arrange a site-to-site delivery tonight. I need a box to be picked up at CBI HQ and delivered to a residential address here in Sac."

Becky chirped, "That's not a problem, we can have your package delivered within the city in one hour. Would that be acceptable?"

Grace drew a resolute breath before pushing ahead. "Sure. That should work. Can the guy be here at 5pm? The box will be down in the mailroom. I absolutely have to have it to this address tonight. One hour max."

She could hear Becky's fingers clicking rapidly over her keyboard. "You got it. It'll be there by 6pm at the latest. I just need the address and your credit card information."

Grace smirked and gave the girl what she needed. They thanked each other and hung up.

As she sat back, the weird sense of total calm she'd been feeling all day lapped gently in her brain. She wasn't sure where it came from, but she'd woken up that morning, cuffed to her bed and spooned by her lover, in an almost zen-like state of mind. Her wrists clinked against their restraints, a reminder that she'd been outfoxed and denied yet again. All of her struggles against his refusals had come to nothing. When he'd finally woken up, that cute bastard had had the audacity to smile at his trapped little leopard as he bent to down to kiss her latest spot on her stomach.

He nuzzled her there and murmured, "You gonna behave if I let you go?"

She answered from her calm place. "Yes, Wayne."

He looked up with surprised amusement. "No tricks? No attempts to get in my pants once you're free?"

She gazed at him serenely. "Nope."

She could have sworn she saw disappointment flicker in his eyes before he smiled and went to her dresser where her keys sat. He jingled them playfully before leaning over her and unlocking her hands. She pulled them down and checked her wrists for marks. Aside from two pink presses from where the weight had rested on the metal as she slept, there was nothing. She rubbed them anyway, unused to being bound. He caught her wrists in his much larger hands, massaging the marks before kissing each one.

"Did they hurt?" There was concern in his eyes and voice now. Concern that he'd taken it too far and made her sore.

She shook her head. "No. Not at all." She smiled with sincerity. He had done no wrong.

He smiled softly back. He had questions. So very many questions. He wanted to know what she was thinking. He wanted to know what she thought about his sudden bid for control. He wanted to know if her deprived sexual desires were making her every bit as crazy as it was making him. Most of all, he was dying to know if she _liked _it.

But she hadn't said a word about it as they got dressed and went to work. She hadn't said much all day, sitting at her desk and looking cool as a cucumber. He liked to think she was setting him up for another trap, playing all sweet and innocent right before she attacked with another clever, sexy assault. God, last night had thrilled him to pieces. Feeling her get out of bed, wanting to ask where she was going but sensing she was up to no good, only to watch her _pull her cuffs_ from their holder and skulk towards him like a starving hunter. _Her cuffs!_ Oh man, he'd had a hard time playing possum as she slid into his arms and oh-so-carefully tried to chain him to the bed.

Sexiest thing ever.

Then he'd gone and shocked the hell out of himself by masturbating on her writhing, ensnared body. Never would he have considered such a thing before last night. It seemed so disrespectful. The act itself often felt shameful and always intensely private. He hadn't indulged himself like that since he and Grace had gotten together. There'd been no need. Grace more than took care of him in that respect, he never felt anything but disgustingly satisfied. But her little thwarted caper had made something snap inside him, something that loosed an exhibitionist as well as a sadistic tease in an ordinarily reserved and kindly man.

So he'd fucked himself while she begged him not to.

And now he was waiting for the consequences.

He felt almost giddy trying to figure out what she'd do next. He was so immersed in the possibilities that he jumped when Lisbon yelled at him. "Rigsby! Quit daydreaming and move it! Cho's waiting."

He lurched out of his seat and grabbed his coat, not even knowing where he was supposed to go. "Yes, boss," he said automatically. Luckily Cho was standing at the elevators waiting. He didn't have to pretend like he he'd heard her instructions while secretly imagining wrestling Grace to the ground and taking yet more pleasure in tormenting her with sweet caresses.

The men got into the elevator without looking at each other.

"Naked thoughts?" Cho deadpanned.

"Shut up."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They got back late, almost 5:30 in the afternoon. The building was almost dead, including their bullpen.

Rigsby popped his head into Lisbon's office. "We're back, boss. Where is everybody?"

Lisbon didn't even look up from her mountain of paperwork. "Grace left early and Jane probably saw something shiny and wandered off." She looked up. "Why? You need something before you go home?"

He shook his head quickly. "No, ma'am. I'm good. I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

He closed up his computer and left, reaching for his phone when he got to the parking lot. Once in his car, he hit Speed Dial 1.

No answer.

Huh. Okay.

He called her house line.

Same deal.

His brow knitted as he killed the connection. Where could she be? Why had she left early? Was Jane with her? For some reason, he didn't like that thought at all. Not only did naughty things happen when Jane got involved, but he was singularly unhappy with the idea of Grace being with someone else after work. Anyone else. Especially a handsome man. He didn't care how inappropriate it sounded, or how ridiculous, given that he trusted both of them completely and knew that Grace reciprocated his devotion in every way. But that didn't change the fact that he was a man. A man with a beautiful girlfriend. Men reacted to such thoughts, no matter how silly. He growled softly. At himself, mostly, but also at his lack of information.

_Where the hell was she? _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He got to his apartment at 6:05 on the dot. He'd considered driving over to her place, but he didn't want to think about how worried he'd get if she wasn't there. _Jesus_, he chided himself. _She's doing chores, she's seeing a friend, she's at the gym, her phone's turned off or in a locker. She's fine. And she's faithful. What the hell is the matter with you? A few hours without her and you're ready to tear the town apart looking for her? Let her live a little of her life without you, freak_.

He was so intent on telling himself off that he didn't see the courier until he nearly knocked him over on the landing in front of his door.

"Fuck!" Rigsby sputtered, instinctively grabbing the guy to keep him from toppling over. "Sorry, man. I didn't see you there."

The courier gave him a tight smile as he righted himself, his digital clipboard managing to stay in his hands. "Happens a lot. Don't worry about it. Are you Mr. Rigsby?"

Rigsby let his arms drop and nodded. "That's me."

The guy handed him the clipboard. "Sign here, please."

He did so questioningly before handing it back. The guy stepped aside, away from his door. Behind him sat a modest little box, less than three feet by three feet. It looked like one of the boxes that old tvs used to come in, before flat screens took the world by storm. He looked at the guy. "What's that?"

But the courier was already sliding past him and hopping down the stairs. "It's a box. Enjoy your evening."

Rigsby watched him trot out to his marked van, gun the engine and take off. Lots of packages to deliver, no time for chitchat. He turned back to the box on his stoop, cocking his head and trying to remember if he'd ordered anything in the last few weeks. Books? Movies? Kitchen appliances? He shook his head. Nothing. Not since Christmas, he was fairly certain.

He slipped behind the box and keyed his lock, opening the door wide before leaning down and picking it up gingerly. The weight surprised him. He slid his arms under it carefully, securing it to him, before walking inside and shutting the door.

He set it down in the living room, noticing that the top of the box wasn't taped up, but rather was one of those ornate folding jobs. There was no company logo. No return address. No receipt in a sealed plastic pouch. Nothing. Just a box.

Hell with it.

Leaning down, he popped the folded pieces of cardboard open and pushed the four lids aside.

"_Jesus_," he gasped.

Grace. Or so it appeared to be. His eyes riveted onto the body of a woman, curled up in an impossibly small fetal position, her bright red head bent down sharply into her chest. His arms dove into the box, pulling her out with a frightening amount of force. She unfolded and fell out into his arms limply, her head still hanging down so he couldn't see her face. Her clothes. What the hell was she wearing? She was wrapped in some sort of white sheet, loosely covering her from neck to ankles.

"Grace! _Grace_!" He fell to the floor and flipped her so that she was face-up in his arms. She was unconscious, her eyes closed, her body totally unresponsive. Panicked, he cupped her chin and shook her gently. Oh, fucking Christ, what the hell had happened to his beautiful… "Baby," he whispered. "Wake up, baby. Come on. Oh, Jesus, honey. What happened to you? What—?" He didn't finish.

An envelope was taped to her chest. His brain froze with horror.

She was dead. Someone had killed her and FedExed her dead body to him. Red John. A jealous ex. One of the million psychos walking around out there.

He was hyperventilating. His rational side was trying to tell him that she was warm. She was breathing. But his fear whispered that she was poisoned. She was a vegetable. She was gone and nothing would ever—

"Read the fucking note," he hissed at himself, tearing the envelope off the sheet and ripping it open. It might have instructions. It might explain what's wrong, how to save her, what the fuck they want in return for her safety.

His terror made it difficult to read. As he got a few lines in, his shock made it even harder to process what it said.

_Dear Mr. Rigsby,_

_Congratulations on your purchase!_

_Meet your own personal sleeping doll, the lifelike, life-sized bed partner. Built to your specifications, she is everything you need for a night of sexy, adult fun. _

_With a catch!_

_She isn't programmed to awaken unless she's activated by a hard, vigorous fuck culminating in her owner's release. She won't move an inch until this happens, nor will she speak. She's very flexible and can be bent into any position you wish. She will hold it, no matter what you do, until you move her again. You're invited to take her any way you like. She's anatomically correct and will awaken regardless of where you choose to come. We encourage you to try any or all three options. We heartily recommend starting with a blowjob. This model is adept at deep throating larger men. _

_Don't be alarmed by your doll's unresponsive behavior. She's not built to actively participate. She's merely a vessel for your own pleasure. There's no need to feel shy or uncertain with her. She was made for one thing—getting fucked by you. _

_Best of luck to you, dear customer. Many of our clients have tried valiantly for several weeks to revive their dolls, but lacked the power required to satisfy her and thus kept her in hibernation. We urge you to consider this when engaging with her. She's not for the faint-hearted. Don't hold back. _

_Hopefully you're man enough…_

Rigsby, trembling and panting with fear, was too stunned to move.

He sat on the floor, Grace in the death grip of his embrace, for nine whole minutes as he read and reread the note. He looked down into her face. A perfect, sleeping angel. He lowered his face to hers, nudging her with his nose. "Grace? Honey, please. Open your eyes for me. Show me you're okay."

He waited. And waited.

Nothing.

She slept on, boneless in his arms. He sensed no indecision in her. She didn't tense at his request, nor did her eyes flutter behind her lids. The instructions were dead on. She wasn't moving a muscle.

He exhaled raggedly.

He starting tugging at the sheet wrapped around her. It was freaking him out. It looked like a death shroud and he wanted it gone. Once it was off her, he'd be able to think. He'd be able to try and work out how to get her to…

_Oh, dear God._

The sheet fell away from her. What was underneath was definitely not a death shroud, but it did _nothing _in terms of helping him think.

She was wearing pink. Bubblegum pink. The satin ribbon around her neck. The bra that wasn't a bra. Rigsby's heart leapt into his throat. That bra was a mere outline of a bra, complete with all of the straps, but no cups. Her perfect breasts were bare, luscious as cream between the triangles of straps. A pink garter belt on her tiny waist, holding up twin stockings of the same color. No panties.

Candy-colored lipstick. Blush and lightly made-up eyes.

_A sex doll. _

"Grace," he hissed warningly at her. "This isn't funny. Wake _up_!"

Oh, sweet Christ, he needed her to wake up. Fear had spiked his heart with adrenaline and lust was unleashing testosterone in dangerous levels and he didn't like how he was reacting one bit.

Her sexified body lay in his arms, over a rapidly growing erection that dwarfed all other erections he ever sported until this moment. Relief that she was okay was manifesting it the most primitive way.

_Fuck. Her. Now._

He pushed the thought down. "Goddammit, baby," he hissed at her again. "Wake up now or I'll…"

_Come inside you after a hard, vigorous fuck. _

_No!_ He huffed loudly and pulled her upright. She came to him easily, sitting up in his lap and, to his surprise, staying that way without his help.

…_any position you wish._

"This isn't fair," he almost whimpered as he rubbed her back, hoping for a reassuring response, but getting nothing. Her breasts, so enticingly set in those open cups, were just inches beneath his chin. He raged against his eyes as they wandered lower, groaning at how sexy she looked in garters and stockings and noticing that she had waxed today. Her pussy was beyond beautiful. Bare and shiny from the wax, it begged to be played with. Fondled and licked. Stroked inside and out. His tongue was trying to leap out of his head to get to her. Fuck him if he didn't want to come with.

But he did. So badly.

He hugged her savagely and moaned into her loose hair. He wasn't strong enough for this. He gently set her away from his lap for less than a minute. That was how he needed to strip himself naked and rejoin her.

Holding onto his last, tiny thread of control, he set her up on her knees before mirroring her position in front of her. "Please, baby. You win. I'll make love to you. Completely. No more teasing you, I promise. I'll spend the rest of the night giving you everything you want, but I need you to open your eyes. Please, Grace? Open your eyes."

He waited. And waited.

Nothing.

She faced him. She beckoned him. She broke him. And yet she didn't move an inch.

Her beautiful mouth that refused to talk. As he stared, he broke down even harder. After all, three days was a long time. He had no choice now. He was rigid with need. His cock had never looked so dangerous, straining and pulsing hungrily for the feast before it. Her little game was completely annihilating his and withered his control to nothing.

Hating himself but needing her beyond reason, he stood up.

He braced his feet, cursing her name as he held her head and slowly slipped into her mouth. The hot, wet heaven that he adored sealed lightly around his length. Every nerve ending screamed with pleasure as he arched into her, groaning at the sensation that he'd abstained from for _far_ too long. He withdrew slightly and pumped back in, keeping a slow rhythm as he watched her peaceful features. Aside from his dick between her lips, nothing changed. Nor did she move internally. Her tongue did not swirl. There was no suction as he thrust. She took him inactively. But the feel of her lips surrounding him—coupled with her blind passivity—caused him to twitch and jerk inside her.

Such soft compliance.

She really was just a vessel for his pleasure. Her closed eyes didn't flutter. She didn't moan like she always did when she sucked him. She wasn't responding at all, just like the instructions said. He was fucking her mouth all by himself. No help. No encouragement. No express permission or enjoyment from her.

Except that she had set this whole thing up.

He was fucking a lifeless doll in the mouth because she wanted him to. She wasn't encouraging him because encouragement hadn't gotten her anywhere in the past three days. She needed sex so badly that she put herself in a self-induced coma and then dared him to fuck her out of it.

Looking at her now, her plump lips wrapped around him, on her knees exactly as he'd set her, his sex-starved body rocketed over the edge before he was ready.

"Fuck!" he swore angrily, cupping her head and pumping a jet of white, hot desire into her mouth. He held her carefully and thrust several times, grunting and shaking as his premature orgasm coursed through him. _Dammit!_ He'd come too soon. He'd been holding out on himself for too long, and the sight of Grace as a slutty, passive sex toy had been too much. Now she was going to wake up and he wasn't going to have the full experience of this mind-blowing little game of hers and…

Wait a minute.

He pulled himself gently from her mouth, watching her closely.

He waited. And waited.

She wasn't moving.

Rigsby cupped her face, tipping it to his and he bent to meet it. "Grace?" he whispered. He turned her face this way and that, waiting for her eyes to open. Waiting for her mouth to smile and speak. Waiting for her to get up, dust off her hands, and laugh in triumph that she'd finally broken him down and _made_ him take her.

Except she wasn't moving. At all. She held the position. Her face was motionless. Stone still. He could barely sense her breathing.

_Hopefully you're man enough…_

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he hissed into her face. Sure, those instructions had been a rousing call to action, but he hadn't thought for one second that she'd actually…

"Wake up, Grace. Open your eyes." He wasn't angry, more like impatient. Yes, she'd won their little battle of wills. She was perfectly entitled to gloat and giggle at him. But first she needed to wake up for her victory dance, right before he resumed taking advantage of her sexy little body in that sexy little outfit.

Not a muscle.

He pulled back from her, growling with frustration. So now he wasn't man enough, huh? She'd dressed up like a sex slave and drove him to break his experiment and give her what she asked for and now she was going to impugn his manhood? He circled her, watching her statuesque body with growing annoyance. Seriously, what the fuck did she expect? She wasn't the only one who'd been dying to get laid. He'd been slowly killing himself ever since he started his plan. He'd had to endure all kinds of little hells to get them to this point. No ejaculation, then no penetration. No divine dips into her irresistible body. But resist he did, and fuck if he didn't deserve the Congressional Medal of Honor for that impossible feat. But, oh no.

He huffed at her, getting seriously worked up at the sight of her motionless body and face.

Scaring the shit out of him wasn't enough. Breaking him wasn't enough. Sucking him wasn't enough. His breakdown hadn't met her standards of a vigorous fuck. Okay, so he supposed it had been a bit one-sided and quick, but Jesus! Give him a break. Abstaining had made him trigger happy. So sue him. It wasn't all about her.

He didn't even realize in his anger that he was already growing hard again. His sexual fast was the biggest culprit, followed by his indignation that she was all but telling him that his orgasm wasn't up to scratch. But there was also the fact that her lack of presence was allowing him to get mad at her as an object, not as Grace. He was a docile man when it came to people, but he got mad at inanimate objects all the time. If the tv was on the blink, he'd hit it, if the coffee table stubbed his toe, he'd hit it, if a flashlight was flickering, he'd hit it, if the computer was giving him grief, he'd hit it.

Sometimes, it made the object work again. Always, it made him feel better.

The object in front of him was broken. The only way it would work again was to fuck it. Good and hard.

Pulsing with fury, Rigsby was suddenly happy to oblige.

"Fine."

He swooped down and scooped her up. He didn't look at her face. He knew she wouldn't react. For the first time that night, he was glad. Holding her limp body in his arms, he walked over to his dining table and laid her out on top of it.

"Any position, right?" he muttered darkly as he spread her legs wide at the table's edge. Wide like only Grace was capable. He pushed them along the line of the table so that they nearly made a 180-degree angle. Until she was essentially on her back and doing the splits. He'd seen her do it in yoga before. It had always turned him on to no end, and now he was going to take it for a spin.

He positioned himself at her entrance. Her serene expression took him to new, terrifying heights of aggression. He gazed at her gorgeous, sleeping form and hissed low and angry.

"Hibernate through this."

He rammed deep and roared. Her natural tightness clenched him in all of its wet, scorching glory. He gripped her splayed thighs and thrust himself completely inside her, his balls slapping her in the ass as he forced her to take all of him as quickly and roughly as his hips could piston against her.

She wanted it hard. He'd give it to her hard.

He pumped frantically. He grunted against the insane pleasure he felt, wanting instead to focus on the anger. Ecstasy shot through his system as her inactive body squeezed and soaked him until his pressurized cock was dripping wet and hotter than he could ever remember it being. The softness he felt inside her, the sweet, glorious, silky softness, made him positive that he'd leave more than come when he finally exploded in her perfect depths.

He'd leave his soul as well.

"_No_!" he roared in irritation, redoubling his efforts and driving into her madly. No sweet thoughts. No admiring her perfect, playful, adorable ploys to win him over.

He had to focus on fucking her into screaming wakefulness.

So far, she'd slept through it. The rutting animal in him raged against her lack of response, but the man in him had to give her credit. Her sweet little pussy was the only one actively encouraging him with its slippery warmth. The rest of her was still sleeping soundly.

_Oh, I'll come for you, baby_, he thought savagely. _But not before you come for me_.

Fuck what the instructions said. He'd make her come screaming and writhing before he returned the favor. She would not sleep through it. No fuckin' way.

"Christ, I missed your pussy, baby," he leaned forward as he panted to her. "You feel so damn good, the tightest little glove I've ever felt. Except for your ass. You're so tight there that I might have to fuck you twice before I come. Just to stay locked inside you."

He was breathing hard, which is why he couldn't be sure when he thought he heard her whimper. He grinned, knowing she couldn't see it, and continued his manic pace. His hands cupped her breasts, tweaking her pink nipples.

"I fucking love how hot you look," he purred. "You've never worn anything like this before, have you? Not for anyone except me. You love being slutty for me, don't you?"

She lay perfectly still, but he knew. He could feel in the instinctive tightening of her muscles around him that he was getting to her. She wasn't immune to this. He clenched his eyes shut and moaned loud. She loved it when he was loud.

He slid his hands along the silky lengths of her stockings before lifting her legs up to his shoulders. Her ankles were now around his neck, pulling another moan from him as he wrapped his arms around her thighs and yanked her closer to the edge of the table. He'd been pumping so hard that he'd pushed her into the center.

"Thaaaat's it," he gritted out as he thrust even deeper. "This is where your legs belong, baby. Up in the air, gripping my head. This is all you should be allowed to do. Such an exquisite. Little. _Fuck_!"

He rammed deep once more and her eyes shot open. Her legs clamped him tightly. Her core that was sheathing him so perfectly tried to strangle him. His little lifeless sex doll arched violently and screamed.

"Waaaaaaayne!" The shriek filled his entire apartment and ricocheted in his skull.

Smug with his tiny victory of making her come first, he gave in. His head snapped back and he screamed at the top of his lungs. No words formed. He forgot them all. His semen shot deep, splitting his cock in half as it exited like a waterfall. Instinct owned him, his nervous system jolting and shoving him harder against her. His entire being wanted Grace to envelop every last inch of him, wrapping around him and sharing the same perfect, tight warmth that she gave one piece of him so sweetly. Grasping and sputtering, her parted her legs and collapsed on her, unable to support his own weight anymore.

He didn't need to look to know that her eyes were still open. She lay quietly beneath him, panting softly. Tentatively, she brought her arms around his back, petting his shoulders as she held him.

He let himself catch his breath before he lifted enough to look at her. His expression was calm as he gazed into her hazel eyes, but loving fury sparked in his blues. "Don't you _ever_ scare me like that again." It had to be said.

She inhaled softly and cradled his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize how frightening it would look. At first."

He pressed his forehead into hers, crowding her with his insistence. "Then _why_ didn't you open your eyes when I asked? Why did you let me think the worst, even for a minute?"

She nuzzled his face, seeking reassurance. "Because I _wanted_ you, baby. I needed you so bad. I knew you'd read the note and see I was okay. It was supposed to be cute." She gazed at him with wide, innocent eyes. "It was supposed to surprise you."

"Fuckin' A, it did." He dropped his face more fully against hers. "You shock the hell out of me. Every single day."

She smiled hesitantly, wrapping her legs carefully around his waist as he continued to pin her onto the table. "You liked it?"

"Are you serious?" he pulled back, smiling sweetly. "This is your new house outfit. Anytime we're home, this is what you're wearing. And this!" He fingered her nipples before running his touch over the straps of the non-bra. "Are you trying to kill me?"

She shook her head, her hair rippling as she did. "Just break you. Break you good."

He chuckled and lifted up, bringing her with him until he stood with her wrapped around his upper body. When she looked into his eyes, she knew the truth before he said it.

"You broke me the day you shook my hand and told me your name."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

"So I give up. How the hell did you send yourself to me without half the building seeing you in your underwear? And how did you bend into that box? And how did you fold it closed? I'm dying of curiosity here."

Grace laughed low in her throat as she nibbled languidly at his neck. They'd ended up going two more rounds in the bedroom before their exhausted, sated bodies fell limply onto the mattress. Grace still wore her pink stockings and cupless bra. Rigsby wouldn't let her take them off, even insisting she sleep in them, if and when they ever got to sleep that night. He couldn't stop touching her. Her silky stockings drove his fingers crazy with soft invitation. Her garter belt, something he'd never encountered personally, won special attention. He kept gripping her waist, sliding his hands over the alluring, supple scratch of the lace before catching one of the laces holding her stockings up and flicking it loose. Grace was more than happy to take it off, now that the little charade was over, but he grunted in disapproval and dragged the string back up, reattaching it. And her bra. He could _not_ leave that particular garment alone for five seconds. His palms, his lips, his flat, wet tongue all kept returning to her full, bare breasts on scandalous display and mauling them with gasp-inducing, masculine craving. She _adored_ it.

She stretched lazily, luxuriating in her post-coital stupor. She'd finally, _finally_ got what she wanted. A hard, pounding fuck. Three of them, actually. And he'd come every time, hard and screaming and deep inside her body. She could feel their combined fluids filling her center and wetting her thighs. She smirked with pleasure. Folding herself up in a box for an hour had totally been worth it. Watching him lose his mind inside her was worth almost anything.

"It wasn't easy, I'll just leave it at that," she offered softly.

"Aw, c'mon. At least tell me how you got yourself via box into the mailroom without anyone seeing you," he paused and tugged her chin up to look at him. "No one _saw _you in this, did they?" He slipped his other hand under her garter belt.

She grinned her kitty cat grin at his worry and budding jealousy. "Oh, the mail guys were super helpful. I sashayed down there in this getup, and asked really nicely if they'd send me to your address," she couldn't hold back a giggle. "Aren't they just dolls?"

He growled playfully, his rough hands groping her ass possessively. "Don't make me shoot them if they're innocent. Promise me no one saw you, that's all I need."

She melted at his angry lust, just like always. "Of course no one saw me. I died of embarrassment just putting this stuff on, and I was alone!"

He chuckled softly, letting his hands coast over her back and arms. "God knows why. You look so sexy I nearly shot off just looking at you."

Grace hummed happily and arched into his exploration. "Glad you didn't. Soooooo glad you didn't."

They lay quietly for a while, stroking each other softly, basking in the simple pleasure of being in a world of their own.

At last, Rigsby broke the silence. "So where do we go from here?"

"Mmm. What do you mean?"

"Well," he began, "you've regained control, haven't you? Here I am, a broken man, at the mercy of a sex doll."

She giggled lightly at the mention of her new persona. She'd add it to the list, alongside prostitute. A police-like lineup of a naughty nurse, a dominatrix, a cheerleader, and a librarian flashed across her mind. Who else could she be for him? Who else would he break for? Grace felt a delicious sense of power knowing that as long as it was her in the outfit, it didn't matter. He'd break. Always for her, he'd break.

His right hand wandered near hers and she caught it, bringing his palm to her lips. She kissed it softly before pulling back and studying the lines. He was right-handed. This hand was responsible for so much. Pain. Pleasure. So much pleasure. As little pain as he could manage, given his line of work. The pain, and the training that went into preparing for the pain, had hardened the large hand currently cradled in hers. She traced the lines with a single finger, following the progression from deeper faults into small, shallow seems. The three longest, deepest lines formed a rough M just above the heel. She wondered which lines creased deepest when he fired his gun or when he punched. Which ones smoothed out completely when he caressed her as he was doing now.

Strange thoughts, she knew. She brought his palm to her lips again and kissed it like she would his mouth; slowly, with nips and gentle tonguing. He gasped softly, curling his fingers until they cupped her cheek. She moaned into his skin, liking the slightly aggressive feel of his hand clapped over her mouth. Even in gentle caresses of her own making, Grace once again felt the stronger, formidable tendencies in Rigsby simmering just beneath his tenderness. She breathed into his palm. Her breath followed the curvature of his fingers and warmed her cheek.

"How about we choose our next project together?" she murmured into his hand. "No more power plays, no more surprises. Just us trying something that we both want."

His fingers fanned out across her cheek as he tipped her face to look at him. "Together, huh?"

She smiled. "Yeah. We'll choose something. Equally. Something that doesn't give anyone the edge. Something wild and wonderful and a little scary. "

His eyes went dark and thoughtful. He moved his hand away from her mouth, using his knuckles to brush her jaw. "Together and equal," he repeated slowly.

She smiled warmly. "Any ideas?"

He didn't return her smile, just watched his fingers trace her face. "Scary and wonderful," he repeated distractedly. When his eyes met hers, they were as certain and cool as blue steel. "Marry me."


	16. Chapter 16

**Epilogue**

In the end, it had taken Grace almost three weeks to say yes. She'd stuttered and goggled him for over an hour after he'd asked, insisting that he take it back, insisting it was too soon, insisting that asking her while she was wearing a sex suit was totally inappropriate. Wayne had simply smiled and politely disagreed with each point.

No, he wouldn't take it back.

No, it wasn't too soon. Hell, he'd known from Day One that he'd wanted to marry her.

No, it wasn't inappropriate to ask her to marry him while wearing a sex suit. "Ball game proposals," he argued, "are inappropriate. Clinking a champagne glass in a room full of people, falling on one knee and proposing loudly is inappropriate." He ran his hand through her hair and smiled into her eyes. "Asking you to be my wife in the bed that you share with me? This is the best place in the world to ask you, Grace."

"But...but..." she stammered while he chuckled.

"See?" he beamed shyly. "Aren't you glad I didn't make you stutter in front of a stadium full of sports nuts?"

She gave him a watery, uncertain smile and he ran his finger gently over her lips, keeping them still. "I don't need an answer now, baby. It's okay. But I do want you to think about it. Very seriously. I love you and I want to be your husband. I want my ring on your finger. I want my children to kick my hand when you're pregnant with them. I want to help you with buttons and necklaces and blown tires and all that stuff that's easier with another person. I want every fight I have from now on to be with you. But mostly?" He bit his lips. "I want to feel scared and wonderful for the rest of my life with you."

Grace inhaled sharply against his finger. "You're crazy. You know that?"

His smile grew. "Think about it, Grace." His bent forward and kissed her softly, trying to erase the shock from her features. The shy tease in him, however, couldn't let her relax completely. "Just say yes when you're done."

Three weeks went by and Rigsby patiently gave her space. They came home every night. They ate dinner. They made love. They fell asleep knotted tightly together and woke up the same way.

Finally, over cereal on the twentieth day, Grace looked at him and took a resolute breath. "Okay."

Rigsby flipped the newspaper page over on the table in front of him and didn't look up. "Okay what, babe?"

Grace reached over the table and slowly dragged the newspaper out from under his nose. He looked up in surprise. "I thought I was allowed to read at the table during breakfast," he whined gently.

She cocked her brow at him and looked at him expectantly. "Oh. Kay."

He stared into her wide eyes as it dawned on him that she was answering a previous question. He dared not speak its name. "Okay?" he tentatively asked.

She nodded. "Correct."

He reached out and scattered the newspaper onto the floor, leaning across the small dinette, eyes boring hopefully. "So...?"

"I'll wear your ring," she clarified. "I'll have your children. We'll button each other's hard-to-reach buttons and I'll call you when I get a flat, even thought I can change it myself." She smiled wryly. "I'll fight with you until the cow's come home and still feel wonderful that I have you and scared that I could lose you every day we go into work."

Rigsby exhaled raggedly and didn't blink once. "No backsies, Grace. I love it when you tease, but don't tease about this. Are you serious?"

She planted her hands on the table and stood slightly, leaning forward and down towards him. "Marry me, Wayne. Let's do the craziest, stupidest, most outrageous thing together and get married. I'm ready."

Rigsby stood. Leaning halfway, he met her in the middle. Always, he'd meet her in the middle. "Call Lisbon. Lock the door. And break out the sex suit. We aren't going into work today." He cupped her face and kissed her like a man released from every care in the world. Without breaking it, he reached down and grasped the table by the edge before upending it and sending it flying across the kitchen. Grace gasped sharply as the barrier disappeared and her fiance dragged her roughly against him. When he broke the kiss, he grinned.

"Care to celebrate with me?"

She grinned back and squeezed him tight. "Depends," she replied evilly. "Do I get to use my handcuffs?"

**THE END**

**A/N**: You guys are the best readers and reviewers in the whole world. I know I left you hanging for a million years on this story, but I always knew there was only a little piece left that I wanted to add, so I was lazy in getting it out. Forgive me, gentle folk. Thanks a zillion for all of the awesome reviews. I know I did some edgy stuff with them in this one, so I appreciate your willingness to let me try it out.

A little birdie told me that Heller admitted via interview that our ship was getting back together in Season 3. Bless you, little bird, for that tidbit. God willing, it's in the bag.

Until _Dice_ or a new story entirely, I bid you adieu.

fic


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